The Potter's Twin
by page.394.snape
Summary: The night the Potters were killed, two babies were placed in the care of the Dursleys. Eleven years later, a set of twins turns up at Hogwarts. Minerva and Albus work together to understand the unfolding events. OC point of view. HIATUS
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer/ Anything you recognise is owned by JKR. Only OC and part of the plot is mine**

The night the Potters were killed by Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall gave not one, but two children to the Dursleys. Young Harry Potter, the Dursleys nephew, and one-year-old Isobel. The Dursleys believed the girl to be the boys twin sister (being unaware of the circumstances of the Potters) as they shared black hair and green eyes. If they had looked closer however, they would have noticed that Isobel had no other traits of the Potters, and even her hair and eyes were different shades to Harry's. The Dursleys however were unobservant, so the two grew up believing themselves to be brother and sister. A strong compulsion charm also helped with the lie. On July 31, the children's eleventh birthday, Rubeus Hagrid came with Hogwarts letters for both of them, taking them both to Diagon Alley, Isobel buying herself an Ash wand with unicorn hair, 12 inches and a ginger tabby cat she named Amber. Come September 1, herself and Harry were brought to Kings Cross Station by the Dursleys and were left alone to find the way.

"Where do you suppose we go know?" Isobel asked her brother.

He shrugged, not having any idea. They wandered around looking for help, but it wasn't until a family of six rushed past them saying something about muggles that they knew what to do. They raced after the family. They watched as three of the children seemed to disappear through the barrier. They met Mrs Weasley who explained how to get through the barrier. Isobel watched as her brother ran towards the barrier, then disappeared. Taking a deep breath, she then did the same, and seconds later, she appeared on Platform 9 ¾ . Harry and Isobel made their way onto their train, meeting Ron, Neville and Hermione. The train ride took place, and Isobel rode in the boat with Ron and Harry, Seamus taking another. Hagrid lead them up to the castle doors and knocked on them three times. The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, one that almost looked familiar.

They followed Professor McGonagall into the hall. She told them about the Houses then went to see if the school was ready for the students. Professor McGonagall's eyes lingered on Isobel, and her face changed to one of almost shock. Then it was gone, and so was she. Harry asked how they were sorted, and Ron answered with something about fighting a troll. Isobel wasn't really listening though, as her thoughts were on Professor McGonagall. Isobel was sure she knew the witch from somewhere, but she could not place it, for where on Earth would she know her from? She barely noticed when the ghosts came past, although she did shiver a little when one brushed past her. When Professor McGonagall returned, she ordered them into a line, following her into the Great Hall. She silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house. Isobel vaguely wondered what that were going to do with it, when all of a sudden it burst into a song. When it finished, the first years seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. All they had to do was try the hat on. Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. She started calling names, and one by one students were placed in their houses. When Harry was called, whispers broke out over the hall. A little while passed before the Sorting Hat shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!" and Harry joined the Gryffindor table, Isobel clapping wildly. Then Professor McGonagall called

"Potter, Isobel!"

The hall grew silent as they watched her eagerly. Isobel gingerly stepped forward, glancing up at Professor McGonagall, who was giving her a strange look. Then the hat was draped over her eyes, and a little voice spoke in her ear.

"Hmm, interesting. Very interesting. A good mind, I see. Lots of courage as well. A desire to prove yourself, and… ah, yes, an unusual amount of kindness. The question is, where to put you?" The voice went silent for a little while. All the students and staff looked on quietly. Every now and then the voice would make a little noise – "Hmm", "Aha", 'No", but it didn't speak anymore. Three minutes passed. Then suddenly, the voice spoke up again. "For the first time, I do not know where to place you. Your qualities and traits accept all the houses, yet none accept you. I am not sure what to do." At this, Isobel grew very worried. What was going to happen? Were they going to expel her from Hogwarts before even the first day? The Hat began to quiver, then it grew very still. Too still.

_Dumbledore POV_

When Minerva calls out the young Potters name, I lean forward and watch the hat closely. I catch Minerva's eye, and see the worry in them. I give her a questioning look. She looks away, towards the girl on the seat, but I feel a buzzing in my mind. _I have a strange feeling about this Albus._ It's Minerva, talking to me through our minds. We have communicated like this for years, so it doesn't surprise me. _How do you mean Min?_ I ask her. She does a sort of mental sigh. _When I first saw Miss Potter, it seemed to trigger a memory, but I couldn't access it. The memory has been blocked. _I try to keep my face neutral, in case anyone happens to be looking my way. No one knows of Minerva and I's relationship, and we hope to keep it that way for much longer. But her statement confuses me. Surely, she would know if her mind had been tampered with. I know she's too powerful not to. _What do you think can go wrong? _I ask her. _She's only getting sorted. _Minerva doesn't send me a message back; I only feel uncertainty in her. It's now that I realise a long time has passed since the hat was placed on Miss Potter's head. Around three minutes. Not uncommon, but I start to get the same feeling as Min. Something isn't right. Just then I feel an unfamiliar invasion in my mind. I am about to shut whoever it is out, but then I hear a voice. _Professor Dumbledore, it is the Sorting Hat. _This time I can't completely hide my shock, but I quickly recover. _My apologies, I did not realise. What is it that you need?_ I glance at Miss Potter, and see the Hat is still on her head, however it has stopped moving. I'm not sure what's wrong, as the Hat has never spoken to me during the Sorting. _For the first time, I cannot place this student,_ I hear the Hat tell me. I frown. _Why not? _I ask it. It's right, this have never happened. _The child possesses a strong personality. Very unique, and unable to be restrained. Her traits accept all the houses, yet none of them accept her, for she possesses the traits of the others too strongly. _Thoughts and ideas run through my mind as I realise what the Hat is asking. I am almost too stunned to respond. I decide that Minerva should be apart of this decision, so I open my conversation with the Hat to her. I quickly fill her in, then ask, _Minerva, what shall we do?_ I see a small frown cross her face, unnoticeable to anyone but me, as I know her too well. _I think there's only one thing we can do Albus. Place her in all four houses. _I feel the Hat waiting for confirmation, but I don't answer straight away. By now, at least seven minutes have passed since the Hat was placed on Miss Potter's head. I turn over the idea in my head. Would it work, for her to be in all the houses? Where would she sleep, and who would she take classes with? Then I decided to do something I had never done before. I went into the girl's mind.

_Isobel's POV_

The Hat had been still for over five minutes now. I could faintly here students murmuring, but they were still waiting for me to be sorted. I didn't know what was taking the Hat so long, but I was starting to get impatient. How long could it take to decide to expel me for not fitting in? Then a new thought hit me. What if they were going to do something worse to me. Was there a prison for wizards? Could children be sent to it? Hundreds of dark thoughts circled through my mind, each one worse than the ones before it. Finally, I feel the Hat start to move again, but it still doesn't speak. I want to yell at it to hurry up, but I resist the urge. I start to feel a small buzzing in my head, but I ignore it. When the Hat speaks again, at least ten minutes have passed, I'm sure. However, the word it speaks is completely unexpected.

"GRAVLEPIN!"

**Hey guys, this is my first story so please don't judge. Also sorry for the short chapter, but this story will be continued, and chapters will get longer. Thank you so much for reading**


	2. Answers

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

_Isobel's POV_

I feel the Hat being taken off my head, but I sit there in numb shock. Gravlepin? What is that? There are no cheers like the others before me when they were sorted. Everyone holds their breath, unsure of what is happening. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and very slowly I turn my head to look at Professor McGonagall, who is looking at me with almost a pitiful expression. She motions for me to stand up, so I do, but I don't move. I don't know where to sit. Seeing my confusion, Professor McGonagall guides me towards the staff table, and I see an extra chair has been added to it, next to an old man with a silvery beard, who I recognise as Albus Dumbledore, from the chocolate frog card. My confusion turns to worry as I head to sit next to the Headmaster. Dumbledore doesn't speak to me; however, he smiles warmly at me, and his brilliant blue eyes seem to twinkle. This puts me a little at ease as I sit next to him. The seat on my other side is empty, so I assume it is Professor McGonagall's seat. Once I am settled, the Sorting continues until Blaise Zabini is placed in Slytherin. The cheering returns, however, it isn't as spirited as before. I only clap when Ron is placed in Gryffindor, and goes to sit next to Harry, who I see is happy about that. Professor McGonagall puts the Sorting Hat away and returns to her seat next to me. Dumbledore stands up beside me and says a few words before the feast starts. I don't really listen. Suddenly, food appears along all the five tables, and staff and students alike dig in. I hesitantly take a sausage, and nibble on it silently. A few tense seconds pass before Professor Dumbledore speaks to me.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Potter."

His voice is cheery, but his expression slightly weary. I put my sausage down and smile weakly at him. I wait to see if he says anything else, but he doesn't. So, taking a deep breath, I ask.

"Sir, what did the Sorting Hat mean when it placed me in…Gravlepin?"

Dumbledore's eyes flicker briefly to look over my head, presumably at Professor McGonagall, who I'm placed between. Then they flick back down to me again.

"Well, I believe it meant to place you not in one house, but in all four houses. A rather interesting play of words, Gravlepin, but I suppose it works."

Again, his voice doesn't match his expression. I choose to risk another question.

"But sir, why? Why didn't it place me in just one, like everyone else?"

I hold my breath as Dumbledore considers my question. Just when I think he won't answer; he opens his mouth.

"I think, the Hat didn't know what to do with your diversity."

I am about to question him, but he continues on.

"You see, normally, when one is brave, they become short-sighted. When one is smart, they become obnoxious. If they are loyal or kind, they can be unpredictable, or if they are ambitious, they become manipulative. You, however, possess courage, intelligence, kindness and ambition, all in an even balance. No one trait stands above the other, therefore, you belong in all the houses."

I stay silent, turning it all over in my head. Possessing the traits of all houses is both a blessing and a curse. Like Dumbledore said, with those four traits, come those four flaws. Then I realise that the flaws mostly outweigh each other. How can I be short-sighted if I'm intelligent? Or obnoxious if I'm kind? I decide that I am happy about my sorting. But then small problems reach my thoughts. Professor McGonagall said that we attend classes and sleep according to our houses. Where would I go? I voice my questions to Professor McGonagall. Just like Dumbledore, she flicks her eyes over me, then answers my question.

"I know you have many questions Miss Potter, and I promise you they will be answered, but for now, let's enjoy the feast. Afterwards, we will speak more in Professor Dumbledore's office."

I look at Dumbledore, and he nods, his eyes twinkling. I'm still worried, but I am able to push it aside, and enjoy the feast. On either side of me, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore engage in small talk, occasionally including me, but otherwise dinner is a quiet event. Once the feast it over, Dumbledore stands again, and the school participates in a song, he warns us against a Forbidden Forest, and tells us to stay away from the third floor. This information confuses me, but I don't ask any questions for now. Once the feast is over, everyone stands up and disperses out to their separate chambers. I wait for Professor McGonagall to stand up, before doing the same. The two Professors turn to face me.

"Follow me to my office Miss Potter, and Professor McGonagall and I will answer your questions," Dumbledore says.

I nod my understanding. They lead me out of the Great Hall, through a series of hallways, and come to a stop in front of a set of stone gargoyles. Dumbledore says, "Lemon drop" and the gargoyles spring apart to reveal a staircase, which we descend upon, reaching a wooden door Dumbledore opens. His office is a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls are covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom are snoozing gently in their frames. There is also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tainted wizard's hat — the Sorting Hat. Professor McGonagall must've put it away here. Dumbledore goes over to his desk, and sits in the chair behind it, while Professor McGonagall takes a place beside Dumbledore's chair, standing up. Dumbledore starts.

"I assume you have some questions Miss Potter?"

The two professors both look at me expectantly, so I swallow and nod my head. I look at Professor McGonagall.

"You said that our houses determine where we sleep and what classes we attend. How will that work for me?"

Professor McGonagall frowns a little, then looks at Dumbledore. They seem to share a silent conversation, and I wonder how deep their relationship runs. I guess that they have worked together a long time, so they're bound to be friends. Professor McGonagall's answer shakes me out of my thoughts.

"That's correct. For tonight, so as not to disturb the other students, we will set up a guest's chambers for you to use, if that's alright with you?"

I nod my head.

"As for where you sleep in the future and who you attend classes with, well that is mostly up to you."

I knit my eyebrows in confusion.

"Obviously, we will have to work out a class plan that lets you attend all the classes, but it will be your choice who you attend them with."

I am astounded that they are letting me choose this. At the Dursley's, Harry and I were never allowed to choose anything. We just had to make deal with what we were given. Just then, Dumbledore picks up where Professor McGonagall left off.

"As for where you will sleep, well, you will have access to all four of the common rooms and will be able to come and go into them as you please. An extra bed will be set up in each of the dormitories you will sleep in, so you have a place wherever you end up."

I process the information, as more questions come to my head.

"Professor," I say, looking at Professor McGonagall, "You also mentioned house points. How will they work?"

Again, the two professors seem to have a silent conversation. Dumbledore answers.

"I will make some changes to the points system, so that however many points are awarded to you or taken away will apply to all the houses. Does that suit you?"

I am once again surprised he's asking my opinion. I think over his proposition. It seems a little unfair that all the houses will lose or gain the same amount of points from me, but then I realise it would also be unfair if only one did, while I also belong in the other three. So, I agree with Dumbledore, and ask another question that enters my mind.

"Sir, you mentioned something about Quidditch. I don't know much about it, but my friend Ron Weasley explained it a little bit, and I was quite interested in it."

Dumbledore smiles a little bit before answering.

"Ah yes. Unfortunately, to try-out, you must be a second year, but if you do, it will be your choice what team you play for."

I'm a little crest fallen that I can't play for another year but nod anyway.

"I just have one last question," I say. "Where will I sit for meals?"

This time the Professors don't have to share a silent conversation to answer me.

"You may sit with however you like, at whatever table you like," Dumbledore replies. "Actually, all students are allowed to do this, however they generally stay with their house, as most of their friends are in their house."

I nod and try to think of any other questions. I can't, so I wait for Dumbledore to speak. He does.

"Well, if that's all sorted, you should probably be heading off to bed now, do you agree?"

I nod. He smiles, then leads me out of his office, bidding goodnight to Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore leads me through the castle as I try to keep track of where we are going. Eventually though we pass too many corridors for me to keep my bearings, so I just make sure I keep up with Dumbledore. He leads me a hallway somewhere off to the side of the castle. The hallway is straight and has many doors along both sides. There is a solid wall at the end with a window that looks out to a small hut and a forest just behind it. I assume that it is the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore leads me to the fourth door on the right, stopping to stand in front of it. The door is once again wooden, with many different patterns and designs carved into it. Dumbledore reaches up and with his middle finger traces a line that starts in the top left corner and circles around the centre pattern of a flower, then ends near the handle. The door springs open to reveal a massive room furnished with modern hangings and furniture.

"All of your things have been brought into the bedroom. Make yourself comfortable, and have a good night, Miss Potter," Dumbledore says.

I smile at him, then enter the room. The door closes behind me, and candles light up the room. I'm too tired to properly look around, so I find the bedroom, wash myself, then head to bed, thinking about the events of the day.


	3. Classes and Quidditch

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

_I am a small child in a crib. White rails encircle me. Suddenly, two figures; a man and a woman, are looking down at me. Their faces are blurred, but I can see a ring on the woman's finger. It's a gold band engraved with a Gaelic design, and it's set with a glittering emerald. More images flash by before I can process them. Then I'm falling asleep in someone's arms, as a red feather tickles my cheek. More memories flood my dreams as I grow up. Most of them are filled with tears and harsh words. _

I wake up gasping for breath, dried tears on my cheeks. I look at my watch and see that it is half-past six in the morning. I pull back the covers of the luxurious bed, then head to the bathroom to wash my face. I stand in front of the mirror, studying my reflection. My face is pale, and my nose is slightly crooked. A bright green eye stares back at me on the left, and a twinkling blue eye stares at me on the right. Ever since I was young, I've always had two different coloured eyes. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon shamed me for it, saying it wasn't normal. I would often be teased about it. Most days, Harry would hug me in the small closet and tell me the people who told me I was ugly were stupid. As I got older, their taunting didn't affect me as much, so they stopped. I move my eyes to my hair. Long ivory black locks fall to my waist (Aunt Petunia complained about money on haircuts). My hand moves to the base of my neck and halfway up into my hair, where a strand of red lays. Pretty much invisible unless I wear my hair up, it's been there since before I can remember. I don't know how it got there, but it has never washed out, and it always grows back red. The Dursleys wouldn't allow me to put my hair up, because the red was abnormal. I'm pretty sure Harry doesn't even know about it. My hand then travels down to my collarbone, where my nightshirt falls off my left shoulder because it is too big. There, a triangle with a circle and a line through it lies on my skin like a brand. Not in ink, but a burn sort of. My finger traces the triangle, then I pull my shirt up to cover it. I turn the sink on and cup the water in my hands, and I splash my face to get rid of the dried tears. I dig through my hastily packed trunk (I often leave things to the last minute) to find my robes. I pull them on, then leave the room and step into the hallway. I realise then that I don't know how to get to the Great Hall. I know where it is on the Ground Floor, but I don't know how to get there from here. Hesitantly, I make my way out of the guest rooms corridor. When I reach the first turn off, I stop, not knowing where to go. I stand, unsure, for a few seconds, before I see a small glow in the right passage. I look at the left passage, and it stays normal. I don't know where the glow is coming from, but I decide to go down the right. Every time I come across another turn or different staircase, the same glow appears in one section. I follow it the whole way until suddenly I'm standing in front of the doors to the Great Hall. Somehow, I found it. I try to come up with a reason I could see the glow, but as the smell of breakfast hits my nose, those thoughts are discarded from my mind. I enter through the doors, then hesitate as I see the four tables. Dumbledore said I could choose where to sit, but that doesn't make it any easier. Just then, I see Harry and Ron waving at me from the Gryffindor table. I smile and go over to them, sitting across from Harry. My mouth waters at the wide variety of foods, and I instantly reach for the pancakes.

"So, what happened last night Bel?" Harry asks.

I smile a little at his use of my nickname.

"Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall explained to me that I was placed into all the houses. He said I get to choose which dormitory I sleep in, where I eat, and which classes I attend. Then Dumbledore led me to a room, and I fell asleep almost instantly. He said we'll talk today to figure out my schedule."

Harry nods and offers me a small smile. Ron is a little hesitant to meet my eyes, but eventually, he does, and I offer him a smile. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, then he returns to his breakfast. The conversation moves on to lessons, and what we're going to learn. I look around the Great Hall at all the other first years and see a lot of them staring funny at me. This makes me feel small, so I return my attention back to the Gryffindor table. I decide that for now, I will stick with them because I know them, and they are good friends. Just before breakfast finishes, Professor McGonagall comes around with timetables. She stops when she gets to me.

"Do you know who you want to take classes with, Miss Potter?" she asks me.

I nod and tell her I am sticking with the Gryffindors. She nods, and hands me a timetable, then continues on to Dean and Seamus, some other fellow first years. We have Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall first up today. After breakfast, we quickly head back to our dormitories to get our books and things, then make our way to the Transfiguration classroom. Again, I use the glowing to guide us there. We arrive two minutes before the bell, and Professor McGonagall starts the lesson. She demonstrates a few transfiguration techniques, then instructs us on how to turn a match into a needle. On my first try, I managed to turn the match silver, and on my second try, I am able to produce a point, which earns me ten points to Gravlepin. By the end of the lesson, I have completed many successful transfigurations, and Hermione is the only other one to get it, five minutes before the lesson ends. I feel very pleased with myself as we head to Defence Against the Dark Arts. As the lessons went on, we got assigned a fair amount of homework and were introduced to many aspects of Hogwarts. Transfiguration remained my best subject, but I also did well in Charms and DADA. Again, Hermione was the only other one to be as successful as me, but Harry came close in DADA.

In our first flying lesson, Harry and I are the first ones to get our brooms after calling 'UP'. Unfortunately, Neville isn't able to control his broom. On impulse, I get on mine and fly into the air. Madame Hooch calls me down, but I don't listen. Ignoring the pounding of my heart and my blood rushing, I focus on Neville. Just as he falls from his broom, I position myself underneath him, somehow getting my broom to do what I want, and catch his hand, so he doesn't fall to the ground. Slowly, I lower us until Neville's feet touch the ground, then let him go. Madame Hooch rushes over at once, and I expect her to start yelling at me, but she immediately goes to Neville to see if he is alright. Physically, he is unhurt, but his face is pale, and he is holding his stomach.

"Alright class, I'm taking Mr Longbottom here to visit the nurse. If anybody leaves the ground, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch."

With that, Madame Hooch leads Neville out of the grounds. Just then, laughter erupts out. I look around to see Malfoy sniggering. He spots Neville's Remembrall and darts forward to snatch it up, then leaps on his broom, despite Harry's protests. I see the decision in Harry's eyes before he acts.

"Harry, no. You heard what Madame Hooch said," I try to tell him.

He ignores me and gets on his broom as well, just as Malfoy throws the ball high into the air, before streaking back to the ground. I watch as Harry darts off, blood pumping in my ears. I know for a fact he's never ridden a broom before, but he looks like he knows what to do. I twist the ring on my finger, nervously waiting. The Remembrall starts falling, and I see Harry chase after it. Somehow, he performs an impossible dive and catches the ball before safely falling off his broom, rolling along the ground. I'm about to run to him and make sure he's alright when someone calls out,

"POTTERS!"

My heart sinks as I look around and see Professor McGonagall running towards us. Harry makes his way over to stand beside me.

"You two," Professor McGonagall says, looking sternly at Harry and I, "Follow me, now."

I catch Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's triumphant faces as we follow silently behind Professor McGonagall. I try not to think the worst, but I know it's inevitable. We're going to be expelled, just like Madame Hooch said. I look at Harry beside me and reach over and grab his hand. He looks at me, and I see the same conclusion in his eyes. I try to summon a smile, but by Harry's face, I can tell it falls flat. Professor McGonagall suddenly stops outside a classroom. I squeeze Harry's hand and try to muster some strength for what's about to come. Professor McGonagall opens the door and pokes her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I see Wood for a moment please?"

Harry looks at me, confusion evident on his face. Wood? Just then, a burly fifth-year boy exits the classroom, looking slightly confused.

"Follow me you three," Professor McGonagall says, once again marching up a corridor.

Wood looks at Harry and I curiously as she leads us into an empty classroom, save Peeves. She yells at him to get out, and he swoops out cursing. Professor McGonagall slams the door behind him then walks to the centre of the room. I look once more at Harry, then let go of his hand, preparing myself for what happens next. Professor McGonagall turns to face us, then says.

"Potters, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker and a Chaser."

Oliver's expression turns to excitement.

"Professor are you serious?" he asks.

With just a hint of a smile, Professor McGonagall replies.

"Yes. They're naturals. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on broomsticks?"

She asks Harry and I the last bit. We both nod. I don't know what's going on, and neither does Harry I'm pretty sure, but something tells me this is good. Professor McGonagall speaks again.

"Mr Potter caught the ball in his hand after a fifty-foot dive, not even scratching himself. Even Charlie Weasley couldn't have done that. And Miss Potter caught another student in the air, returning him safely to the ground, with absolute natural talent and impulse."

Oliver was now looking as if his birthday and Christmas had come early, on the same day. He looks at us excitedly.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch before?"

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team," Professor McGonagall explains.

Suddenly, it clicks in my mind. I remember Ron going off about Quidditch on the train, and how he mentioned something about the players. If I remember correctly, which I always do, he said a Seeker had to catch a really small flying ball, and Chasers had to score points. I also remember he mentioned his brother Charlie was captain of the Quidditch team at one point. Then it hits me what Professor McGonagall means. She wants Harry and I to play on the Gryffindor quidditch team. Harry as Seeker and me as a Chaser. Just then I see a figure right in front of me, and I am brought back to the present.

"We'll have to get them good brooms, Cleansweep Sevens or even Nimbus Two-Thousands," Wood is saying.

"I shall talk to Professor Dumbledore and get it organised. Oh, the look on Snape's face, I can't wait," Professor McGonagall replies. Then she peers over her glasses down at us. "I want to hear you're training hard, the both of you, otherwise I will have to punish you." Then, she smiles and says, "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Chaser himself."

Harry and I look at each other, unbelieving.

"You're joking?" I ask her. She smiles and heads us back to class.

All the way back Harry and I excitedly talk about what just happened. When we reach dinnertime, we relay everything to Ron.

"Seeker? And Chaser? But first years are never allowed. You two must be the youngest players in about a –"

"A century," Harry and I cut him off. "Wood told us," I continue as Harry shovels pie in his mouth.

Ron just stares, gaping at us.

"We start training next week," Harry says as I load my plate. "Just don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it secret."

Ron nods, just as Fred and George Weasley, his twin brothers, enter the Hall, spotting us and making their way over.

"Well done," George says. "We're on the team as well – Beaters. Wood told us."

Just then Lee Jordan comes over, and the twins hurry off with him, not before Fred gives us a smile and a thumbs up. As soon as they've left, Malfoy and his goons come up. Before they can say anything, I give them a piece of my mind.

"Shove off Malfoy, unless you've been bewitched and suddenly have something nice to say," I tell him, giving him a glare.

Malfoy glares back at me, but after a bit, he huffs, then marches off. I smile smugly at his retreating form.

"I'm telling you," Harry comments. "That stare of yours is truly terrifying."

I erupt into a fit of laughter, Ron and Harry soon joining in. Once dinner's over, we head up to the Gryffindor common room, and sit down in the comfortable chairs around the fire, talking for a few hours. I decide to spend the night here, so when we get too tired, we head off to our dormitories, and I go to bed dreaming about flying on a broomstick.

**Hey guys, thank you all so much for reading. Within the next few chapters, the plot is going to come in to play, so the chapters will be longer and more interesting. Thank you, and if you guys having any ideas or suggestions, please review. I'm open to positive feedback. **


	4. Halloween

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

The next few days passed without worries as we settled into our lessons. Harry and I started our Quidditch practice, and we were all loaded with homework. One morning, a few days before Halloween, Ron and Hermione got into an argument in the Gryffindor common room. Harry and I stood a little away, not wanting to get on our friends' bad side. Hermione and Ron didn't notice the other students dispersing to their classes. We tried to get their attention, but every time interrupted, one of them shushed us. After five minutes, I finally yelled we were late. Instantly, Hermione shut up and sprinted out the portrait hole. We closely followed her. Our next class was Transfiguration, and we would surely get detention for being late. As we made our way down all the stairs, the castle decided to move around. The staircase we were on started moving to the right. We stumbled and gripped the sides of the staircase to steady ourselves. Once the stair had attached itself to a corridor, it stopped. Not paying attention to where we were, we ran up it and dashed down the hallway. At the end, we reached a locked door.

"I'm sure this is the way," Hermione says.

Relying on the know-it-all, I step forward and say the charm for unlocking doors.

"Alohomora!"

Instantly, the door unlocks, and I push it open. We go through the door, Ron closing it behind us. When he turns around, we all scream. In front of us is a massive dog with razor-sharp teeth and claws. That isn't the worst part though. The worst part is the three heads. We yank the door open, and run outside, slamming and locking it behind us. Only once we are down another set of stairs, definitely heading the right way this time, thanks to my assurance, do we calm down enough to discuss what we had just seen.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron exclaims.

Harry nods his head, but Hermione rolls her eyes and I huff a little. Hermione and I share a look, then Hermione explains.

"Honestly, you boys never use your eyes. It was standing on something. A door."

"Probably protecting it," I add.

The boys look at us, astounded, but before they can say anything, we reach the Transfiguration classroom. Hermione pushes the door open, and we rush to our desks. We get our books and quills out as Professor McGonagall makes her way over to our desks which are conveniently located next to each other. Before she can say anything though, I apologise.

"Professor McGonagall, we're so sorry. We were completing our homework in the common room, and we lost track of time. I was the last to finish, and when I looked at the time, I realised everyone was gone and we were late. We came as quickly as we could to class. We're so sorry Professor."

I say it all in a rush, hoping to act like I am telling the truth. When I finish, I bite my lip, hoping McGonagall will buy it. The Professor stares at me over her glasses, then looks at the rest of the group.

"Very well," McGonagall says. "As you are all finished, you should be able to hand it in now."

I let out a small sigh of relief and rummage through my belongings to find the parchment. Trying not to smile, I hand over my homework like the other three. Luckily, I had helped the boys finish it, otherwise, we surely would've been caught out. McGonagall looks over the papers and seems to decide I'm telling the truth. Without another word, she walks back over to her desk and resumes the lesson. We don't speak until the lesson is finished.

"That was brilliant, Isobel," Ron says.

I smile a little as we walk to our next lesson. But the three-headed dog is still on my mind. Why is it in the castle, and more importantly, what is it protecting? I try to put the thought to the back of my mind and carry on with the day. But every so often my thoughts wander back to the trap door. Suddenly, I remember what Hagrid said about Hogwarts, how it's the safest place to hide something, and how he said it the day he got the little package out of Gringotts. I voice my thoughts to Harry, and he agrees with me. Despite our best efforts though, we just can't figure out what the package is. But it has to be valuable if it's protected that well.

The next day at breakfast in the Great Hall, the owl's flood in as usual. What catches everyone's eye though, is two long packages carried each by half a dozen screech owls. I am astounded when they drop down in front of Harry and I. Just as they drop the two packages, a letter is dropped off, and Harry catches it. He opens it and shows it to me.

DO NOT OPEN THE PACKAGES AT THE TABLE

They contain your new Nimbus Two Thousand's, but I don't want everybody knowing you two have got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your next training session.

Professor McGonagall

After reading the letter, I hand it to Ron trying to hide my glee. Harry and I had been training on the old school broomsticks, but they are really slow and don't cooperate as much as the ones the rest of the team has. We leave the Great Hall quickly, intending to open the packages privately before class, but we run into Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. I put my broomstick behind my back, but Harry isn't as quick. Malfoy grabs it and runs his hands along the packaging. A mixture of astonishment, glee and jealousy fun across his face as he realises what it is.

"That's a broomstick," he says as he throws the broomstick back to Harry and eyes mine. "First years aren't allowed them," Malfoy spits.

I flash a look at Ron. I can tell he's about to snarl something back, but he backs down at my glare.

"Nose out of it Malfoy," I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Just then Professor Flitwick rounds the corner. Malfoy jumps at the chance to get us in trouble.

"The Potter's have broomsticks Professor," he says quickly.

Instead of getting us in trouble, Flitwick beams at us.

"Yes, I'm aware of the circumstances. I trust you'll use them well," he says, peering up at us.

Harry and I nod quickly, and Flitwick moves on. I smirk at Malfoy, then move the boys on quickly. Unfortunately, Ron just can't hold back.

"You know Malfoy," he remarked, "It's actually because of you they have them."

I can't hold back my laughter this time when I see the look on Malfoy's face. We continue up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Before we reach the Fat Lady though, we meet Hermione.

"You really shouldn't be getting rewarded for breaking the rules you know," she says.

Harry and Ron exchange a look, but I can tell Hermione doesn't really mean it. She's only just holding back a smile.

"Come on, help me open mine, will you?" I ask her.

She begrudgingly agrees and the four of us go through the portrait hole. We sit down in the armchairs in front of the fire, and I lay my broomstick across my lap as Harry does the same. Together, Hermione and I and Ron and Harry open the packages, and we all let out a gasp as the last piece of wrapping falls away. I brush the paper off my lap, and grasp the handle, standing up and turning towards Harry. We have identical smiles on our faces as we admire our newest gifts. I'm itching to get on my broom now and fly around the Quidditch pitch, but I'm aware of the time, and we have Charms in ten minutes. I can tell the others are as crestfallen as I am, but I manage to convince Harry to put his broom away, and I do the same, placing the Nimbus Two Thousand under my bed. I try my hardest to focus on my lessons, but I still count down the hours before Quidditch practice tonight. When dinner comes, all four of us shove our food down, then run up to our dormitories to grab the two brooms. We race down to the Quidditch pitch, and then I realise it's not even seven o'clock yet. But I can tell Harry won't be able to wait, so I mount my broom and kick off the ground. Glancing back, I see my brother is right behind me, so I decide to learn all the tricks to my broom. We circle around the field and through the goalposts, experimenting dives and sharp turns. We race each other three times round, and Harry wins by a millisecond. I can tell he has more natural talent, but I don't mind too much, as I have plenty of my own. When Oliver finally arrives, he calls us down. Not long after, the rest of the team shows up, and we begin practice. With the new additions, I can tell our team has improved loads. I'm able to keep up with the other two chasers, and even able to race ahead of them to get goals in quickly. Harry is able to catch the snitch easier as well because he can keep up with it. By the end of practice, everyone is in a much better mood, and I can tell everyone believes we might have a chance of winning this year. I'd been told that Gryffindor hasn't won the Quidditch Cup in five years. But we are determined to take it home this year.

As the weeks wear on, we are enveloped in schoolwork. Now we have covered the basics, the lessons are getting more interesting. On top of that, we have Quidditch practise three times a week. Hogwarts has started to feel more like home for Harry and I, and we can't believe we've been here for two months.

On Halloween, we learn how to make things fly in Charms. Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione get in a row again. After the lesson, I hang back from the boys to comfort Hermione. In front of us, Ron makes a rude comment.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly."

Beside me, Hermione bursts into tears and speeds up, brushing past Harry. I follow after her, shooting Ron a glare as I do so. Hermione runs to the nearest bathroom and locks herself in a stall. I try to get her to unlock the door, but she tells me to go away. I stay though, leaning back on the sinks and crossing my arms. I wait for a few minutes, but it doesn't seem like she'll be coming out soon.

"Don't mind Ron, Hermione. He was just in a bad mood that he couldn't get the feather to fly. Harry was a bit annoyed at me too. It's not your fault."

I hear a sniffle from her stall, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she is calming down a little.

"Ron says a lot of rude things, but he doesn't really mean most of it. I've learnt the Weasley's have a bit of a temper when they're in a mood."

Hermione laughs a little, and I see the lock turn, and she emerges wiping her tears away. I move forward from my perch and wrap my arms around her small frame. She sniffles into my shoulder a little, but she relaxes in my embrace. We stay like this for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry I ran off like that," Hermione says as she pulls back. "He just got me really upset."

"Hey, it's alright," I console, "Don't apologise. You had every right to get upset. What he said was really hurtful. If it was me, I would've gone over and hexed him to bits. And I don't even know any hexes."

This elicits a proper laugh from her, and I smile.

"I'm sure you would've," she teases.

I laugh in return. But then her smile turns into a frown.

"I just don't get it," she says. "You're just as good with spells as me, better even, but he doesn't mind me."

I sigh, unsure how to answer.

"I don't know Hermione. Maybe he doesn't say anything because I'm Harry's sister."

Hermione doesn't respond. I'm not sure how long we stay in the bathroom, but enough to figure that we probably missed the rest of our classes and most likely dinner. I'm just about to suggest that we head back to the common room when I see the walls of the toilet light up with the golden glow I noticed before. I point it out to Hermione, but she says she doesn't see anything. I start to get a bad feeling.

"Something isn't right," I tell Hermione.

Suddenly, the door smashes open, and in the doorframe, something big, giant and ugly stands, holding a massive wooden club. Hermione and I scream. I run for the nearest cubicle, but it does me no good. The club smashes right through it. I glance at Hermione and breathe a sigh of relief that the thing isn't focused on her. Just then, I hear a shout come from the doorway the beast was just in. I turn my head towards the sound and can't believe my eyes. It's my brother and Ron. They pull out their wands, but I can tell they're unsure of what to do. The limited magic we know isn't very handy. But of course, Ron doesn't need magic to do something reckless. He runs towards the smashed cubicles and picks up a few wood pieces. Then, he starts throwing them at the thing in an effort to distract it. It works, but now it's focused on Ron and Harry. Ron seems to realise this and turns to Harry.

"Do something," he shouts desperately.

Harry looks around desperately for something to do but finds nothing. Unfortunately, now the thing has noticed Harry, and it starts towards him. Ron gets out of its way, and I see Hermione moving to stand next to him, looking scared. She hasn't even got her wand out, so I know even though she's good at magic she won't be much help right now. Suddenly, the things grabs Harry and hauls him upside down by his leg. Harry's glasses fall off, and he almost loses his wand, but he manages to tighten his grip in time. I know that we're running out of time to do something. As the thing raises its wooden club with the other hand, I see terror shining on Harry's face. In that moment, I am reminded of all the time's the same terror was reflected on my face. Every time, Harry protected me when we were younger. Whenever I was bullied, Harry would always step in, grab my hand, then yell at the bullies to go away. I remember how I was always so afraid, and how afraid Harry must have also been, but he overcame it protect me. Now, the situation is reversed, and my brother is about to get hurt. Rage builds up inside me as the club swings closer, and just before it hits him, my anger bursts, and I let out a scream. All around me, the things that weren't smashed before, explode into smithereens, and all the mirrors along the walls shatter into tiny glass pieces. The creature holding Harry grunts in surprise as flames sprout all along its skin, and it drops my brother, just before it collapses into a pile of ash and dust. As it does, everything left in the bathroom is blasted into tiny fragments, and only the walls are left still standing. At first, nobody moves as everyone stares silently at me. It is only interrupted by Professors Snape, Quirrell and McGonagall running through the door, and pulling up short as they see the destruction. Professor McGonagall lets out a gasp, then rushes towards Harry, who is on the floor. She checks to make sure he is okay, then helps him up. Snape glares at Ron and Hermione all the way while Quirrell looks at me almost wondrously. McGonagall notices that the other two are still staring at me, so once Harry stands beside them, she makes her way over to me.

"Miss Potter, what happened here?"

I can't read her expression. Anger is obviously evident, but there is also a mixture of worry, confusion and amazement. I then notice I haven't answered.

"I – I'm not sure Professor," I stutter, feeling overwhelmed. "One minute Hermione and I were in the bathroom, the next, that…thing showed up and started attacking us. Harry and Ron showed up, and they tried to distract it. It then grabbed Harry, and…I don't know. Everything exploded. Including the thing," I finish, pointing at the pile of dust that are the only remains of the creature.

Professor McGonagall stares at me for a moment and seems to decide I'm telling the truth. She turns to look at the other three. Before she can say anything, Harry steps in.

"It was the troll Professor," he says.

I blink. A troll? Harry continues on.

"Ron and I knew the girls were in here, and we came here to make sure they were safe. But it was already in here. I knew it would be no good, but I couldn't let it hurt them. So, we tried to distract it, and –"

"That will be enough, Mr Potter," McGonagall cuts in. "Despite the recklessness or your actions, they saved these two girls. 10 points from Gryffindor, for your recklessness."

Ron and Harry's faces fall at this. But then McGonagall continues.

"But 10 for each of you," she says to all four of us, "For your bravery."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, we can't stop the smiles from forming on our faces. I move over to stand next to Harry, and he finds my hand, just like he used to when we were younger. I look over to the other two professors, and Snape is glaring at us while Quirrell is studying the remains of the troll.

"This is marvellous," he mutters.

Everyone stares at him, and he notices the attention.

"Oh, I – I j – just meant the m – magic re – required to do this. S – such p - power is un h – heard of in young w – witch and w – wizards."

Snape frowns as Quirrell speaks. McGonagall scans the four of us.

"Very true, Professor Quirrell," she says stiffly. "However, I think they have had enough excitement for the day. You best be getting back to your houses tonight."

We all nod, and swiftly head for the exit. As I pass the door though, a wave of dizziness hits me, and I fall against Harry, who struggles to keep me upright.

"Isobel," he exclaims. "What's wrong?"

I try to answer but can't find my voice. My surroundings fade in and out of blurriness, and I try to blink black dots from my vision. I attempt to straighten up, but an even bigger wave of dizziness hits me, and if it wasn't for Ron supporting my weight as well, I would've fallen. My limbs feel sluggish, and I feel exhausted. I faintly hear Harry calling my name, and I can barely make out the figure standing in front of me, a look of worry on her face. Professor McGonagall brandishes her wand and casts a spell just as I lose consciousness.

**Sorry for the cliff-hanger, but all will be revealed in the next chapter. But for now, see you guys in the next chapter.**


	5. Discussions

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

**Chapter 5**

_Isobel's POV_

I wake up to whiteness. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. I realize I'm looking at the roof of a room, so I slowly sit up and look around me. I realise I'm in the Hospital Wing. Beds lined with white sheets surround me, and next to me, the bedside table is decorated with a vase of flowers. Sitting in a chair on my right is Harry.

"Isobel, you're awake. Thank God," he exclaims when he notices me.

"What happened?" I ask.

Harry sighs, and moves his chair closer.

"We're not sure," he starts.

"We're?" I interrupt.

"Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey," he says a little irritably, "Just let me explain," he continues.

"Sorry," I say.

"As I was saying, we're not sure. One minute you were fine, the next you had collapsed. They ran some tests," he stops, noticing my face. "Magical," he clarifies. I nod. "But the tests didn't tell us anything. Physically, you have no reason for fainting. You've been out for about a day. The only thing they could put it down to was exhaustion, but we couldn't think of any reason you'd be so exhausted."

He says the last bit like a question, so I shake my head.

"I'm just as confused as you are," I say.

Just then, the doors to the Hospital Wing open, and Dumbledore strides in, coming to a stop on the other side of my bed. He peers down at me, and I notice the twinkle in his eyes has disappeared.

"Miss Potter," he says gently, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright thank you, Sir, I'm just confused. I don't know what happened."

Dumbledore nods and opens his mouth to say something just as Madame Pomfrey appears. She comes over to stand next to Dumbledore and gives me a worried look, then glares at Dumbledore.

"I did not clear you to visit Headmaster, and Miss Potter needs rest."

"It's alright," I butt in. "I feel fine, honestly. Nothing is wrong. I just want to leave," I say truthfully.

I don't like hospitals, because nothing good comes from them. I especially don't like being the patient, because I don't like being told to sit and rest and do nothing. Madame Pomfrey looks at me sceptically.

"I am going to look over you once more, and if I can't find anything, then you are free to go," she says sternly.

I nod as she starts waving her wand. Several minutes later, I'm declared free to go. As I am about to shut the door, Dumbledore calls me back. I signal for Harry to go on then walk back to the Headmaster, and peer up at him.

"I'm sorry to hold you up, but I wanted to ask you something," he says, a little apprehensively.

I grow uneasy. He must pick up on this, as he reassures me.

"Not to worry, I just wanted to request that you come to my office tomorrow evening, to discuss a certain matter. You're not in trouble, I just want to understand what happened. I'm a man on knowledge you see, and not knowing something is troublesome."

I'm still a little worried, but I agree anyway. He lets me go, and I soon catch up with Harry, who I'm pretty sure was walking slowly to find out what Dumbledore wanted. I tell him, although I don't know much. The rest of the day passes without worry, and I join classes after lunch. I have to miss out on Quidditch practice because I have to 'take it easy', so I catch up on the schoolwork I missed over the time I was passed out. The next day goes by normally, and I barely take note of my dinner, bouncing my knee in anticipation of talking with Dumbledore tonight. He's absent from dinner, so McGonagall dismisses us when we're done. I start making my way to the Headmasters office as a sense of dread starts to fill me.

* * *

_Meanwhile, Dumbledore's POV_

I miss dinner tonight to think about what I will propose for Miss Potter later. My mind flicks back to when Minerva contacted me, telling me what had happened. I instantly had a suspicion, and when Poppy did her tests, it was pretty much confirmed that Isobel had collapsed from exhaustion from using too much magic. After the tests were finished, Minerva and I went down to the bathroom, and I stared in surprise when I saw the mess. Every mirror had shattered into thousands of minuscule pieces, every cubicle door was in tiny wood splinters, and the toilets and sinks had exploded, spitting water everywhere, and had collapsed into broken pieces on the floor. As for the troll, it was a pile of dust in the middle of the room. I walked over to the nearest wall and placed my hand on it. Years ago, when I became Headmaster, my magic was tied into the castle. I could feel magic surging through the wall and radiating off every surface. The mess had been caused by a massive wave of magical energy, probably provoked by rage or fear. There was a possibility of it being caused by another, but I knew it had to be Isobel, especially because of how she had collapsed. I pull myself back to the present, staring at the wall across from my desk. I know that this situation has to be handled properly, otherwise, everyone, including Isobel, could be in danger. She unintentionally expelled an enormous amount of magic that was uncontrolled and too much for her body. More importantly, she did it without a wand. That alone means that she is an extremely powerful witch. And an extremely dangerous one. I had suspected this from when she was Sorted, and I know I have to train her properly, so she doesn't accidentally do something dangerous. The problem is how I'm going to explain this to her. I remember what happened when I was younger, and how scared I was to know how dangerous I am. The same happened, albeit on a slightly smaller scale, when Minerva started at Hogwarts, two years into my teaching. I did my best to help her control her power, and it worked. But Isobel, I can tell, is much more powerful than Minerva and I, combined. I conclude that I will need help from my Deputy. Just as I make this decision, the said woman enters through my office door. She walks over to my desk, and sits on the side of it, laying a hand on my shoulder, then moving it up to cup the side of my cheek. I lean into her touch and sigh as the feeling instantly calms me.

"I'm going to need your help Min, she's so much more powerful than either of us, even combined."

She closes her eyes for a second, then gives me a reassuring smile, signalling that she agrees. We don't move, just enjoying the moment. We haven't had a lot of time together recently, as the year started up again. No one knows that Minerva and I are married, so even during the breaks, we still have to be discreet.

As Minerva got older, we started spending more time together as I helped her become an Animagus, and she got more powerful. It became harder for her to control her magic, so we started meeting almost every second night for both matters. We both realised our feelings in her final year, although we didn't act upon them until she began teaching, as it was extremely inappropriate for a student/teacher relationship, and Minerva wasn't of age. During that time, Grindelwald, then Voldemort were threats, so we kept our relationship secret, as we didn't want either of them finding out and using it as a weakness. Even after Harry defeated Voldemort, we still kept it a secret, as neither of us believes he is gone. As much as it pains us to keep it from the world, we agreed to do so until there's no threat to either of us.

I slide my hand into Minerva's and run my fingers along the ring on her right hand. Recently, it hadn't disappeared, but normally, it was charmed to only appear in times of stress, anger and sadness. Now though, everyone seemed to be on alert, for some unknown reason, so it never left her finger. I study the Gaelic design on the gold band and smile at the emeralds that so much resemble Minerva's eyes. I feel her hand reaching for mine as she does the same. Upon our marriage, I had matching rings made for us and enchanted them to ourselves. Through them, we can sense what the other is feeling, and can send small messages. They resemble our marital rings, although we can't wear them on the correct hand, in case they appear and are noticed by others. My ring is the same as Minerva's, except it is set with twinkling sapphires that Minerva said match my eyes. For a long time, they had been a symbol of our love, and tonight is no different. I bring my wife's hand to my lips, and softly place a kiss there, just as a knock sounds on my door. Minerva quickly stands up from her perch at my desk and moves to stand to the side so she can participate in the conversation to come. I stand up as well but stay in front of my chair.

"Enter," I call.

Miss Potter appears around the door, and I beckon her in. She stands a few feet away from my desk, and I can tell she is nervous, although she hides it well. I take a deep breath as I prepare to tell her the information I have recently discovered.

* * *

_Isobel's POV_

I stand, shaking slightly, in front of Dumbledore, as McGonagall watches from the side.

"Miss Potter, thank you for meeting me. Unfortunately, there is something important we need to discuss."

I grow even more nervous, even though I remember that he told me yesterday I'm not in trouble.

"I'm guessing you are slightly confused about recent events," he pauses slightly before continuing. "I've thought hard about it, and I believe I have concluded, although a little problematic."

I try my hardest to hide my nervousness. What could I have done to cause so much disaster? I silently pray that this conversation will take a completely different direction, although of course, I know it won't.

"You see Miss Potter, I believe that you are much more powerful than you realise," Dumbledore states, oblivious to my thoughts.

When he says this though, I am completely confused. Powerful? Me?

"The damage that occurred in the bathroom is very substantial and quite unusual," the Headmaster continues.

I blush slightly, embarrassed at what he implies.

"Don't worry," McGonagall pipes in, "The damage is easily repaired, and you are not in trouble."

Dumbledore nods in agreeance, and I breathe a sigh of relief, that unfortunately, doesn't last long.

"However," Dumbledore says as my heart sinks.

"That damage was caused by you. Unintentionally, yes, we acknowledge, but the fact still stands. I believe that the amount of magic you exploited caused you to collapse, as it was too much strain on your body. This, I believe, requires extra attention, and most likely private training. This is what I wanted to discuss this evening."

I blink as I register what he says. Instead of getting in trouble, Dumbledore is offering to privately train me to help me control my magic.

"I believe it is the best path forward as if this goes unattended, your magic could become dangerous and harmful," Dumbledore continues, looking at me curiously and waiting for my answer.

The obvious answer would be to just say yes, but, I was also partly sorted into Ravenclaw, so my mind runs through all the options before completely agreeing. I decide that it is the best solution, so I nod to signal my agreeance. Dumbledore smiles a little, and McGonagall steps forward.

"Professor Dumbledore has asked me to help with some of these training sessions," she says. "I hope that is alright with you."

The words are a question, but she phrases it like a statement, so I know if I did have any problem with it, it wouldn't matter. Luckily, I don't mind though. From our first Transfiguration lesson I could tell that although strict, McGonagall is a good teacher, and apart from Dumbledore, is probably best suited to help me with my magic. With this thought in mind, I nod again.

"One last thing," Dumbledore says. "I ask you not to tell your friends about this, as they could take it the wrong way."

I'm smart enough to know there's more to his words, but I decide not to ask. I signal my agreeance, then wait for my dismissal. Dumbledore gives it, bidding me goodnight as McGonagall gives me the tiniest of smiles. I take my leave and head back to Gryffindor tower to finish my homework. Harry and the others pester me about what Dumbledore wanted, but I remember what the Headmaster said, so I just tell them that Dumbledore wanted a full recount of what happened. He seems to believe it, so leaves it be. I go to bed with a head full of answers, and another strange dream.

**Author's note**

**Ok, so I know that some people don't ship Albus and Minerva, but they are one of the main couples in this story, so (in the nicest way possible) either deal with it or stop reading. You've probably figured out part of the plot from the information in this chapter. Unfortunately, I won't address that for a while, so the characters will just have to continue obliviously. I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you so much for reading and leave a review on what you think. **


	6. Lessons

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

_Faces plague my dreams. They swim in and out of focus, but I can't make any sense of them. The scenery changes with every face. I hear a baby's cry, and a figure moves in closer. The faint smell of lemons fills my nose, and the crying stops. Suddenly, the scene changes and all I can see is black. I hear whispers, but the words fall short on my ears. Then a burning spreads across my shoulder, and a scream wakes me up in a cold sweat._

I sit up in the maroon bed-sheets and try to steady my breathing. My hand moves to my shoulder, where I can still feel a small amount of pain. I pull my nightshirt down and see the mark fading from a glowing green. I blink, and the pain disappears, and the green is gone. I decide I must've imagined it, as I only just woke up. Looking towards the window, I see it's still dark out. I try to get back to sleep, but what I saw in my dream keeps me up. Eventually, when I see the smallest amount of light brushing the sky, I get out of bed and slip some jeans and a light shirt on, then quietly exit the dormitory. I enter the common room and see the fire hasn't been lit yet. I know I'm not allowed, but I decide to go outside and walk around the grounds. Quietly, I exit the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's protests. I find myself walking down to the Quidditch pitch, and I kick myself I didn't bring my broom down. I debate getting one of the school's old brooms, but they're so slow and I don't want to ride one of them. Then my mind flicks back to the conversation I had with Dumbledore last night, and how I'm powerful. I wonder if I can summon my broom to me. A long shot, but worth a try, I guess. I close my eyes and focus on my broom and where it's stashed underneath my bed. I silently urge it to come to me. I stand there for a few minutes, waiting to see if anything happens. Suddenly, I hear a whooshing sound, and I open my eyes, unbelieving. There, flying towards me is my Nimbus Two Thousand. I can't believe it. It actually worked. Then I widen my eyes as I realise it's heading straight for me with nothing to stop it. I brace myself and reach out as it soars past me. My hands close around the handle, and it keeps flying as it lifts me off the ground. I hang from the handle, trying to swing my legs up, and the broom seems to lower itself to let me on it properly. I manage to get into the proper position, leaning over the handle of the broom as I fly it around the Quidditch pitch. My hair soars out behind as I didn't bother putting it up. I laugh as I cautiously lift my hands off my broom and raise my body to make it feel like I'm flying. I revel in the wind rushing past my face, and the rushing of my heart from the adrenaline in my veins. The broom seems to guide itself even without my hands on it, and it makes spectacular turns to keep me in the air and away from structures. I decide to make a daring move and close my eyes. I manage to stay on my broom, and I trust it to keep me safe. With my eyes closed, I don't focus on anything, and I feel all my burdens leave my shoulders at that moment.

When I open my eyes again, I return my hands to the handle of the broom and manoeuvre it through dives and loops.

I don't know how long I stay out, but finally, I notice that the sun has fully risen, and the castle looks awake. Reluctantly, I head back down to the ground and start back up to the castle. I try to be as quiet as possible, and I let the castle guide me back to the dormitory. Whenever I hear voices or footsteps, the golden path always diverts itself and I stay unnoticed. I make it back to the Gryffindor common room and see that quite a few people are up already. Luckily, people just glance at me then look away, assuming I had Quidditch practise because I'm holding my broom. No one questions me, and I'm just glad Percy Weasley isn't in here to riddle me. I make my way up to the dormitory and put my broom back under my bed. I think I've gotten away with it, but Hermione comes up to me, a stern look on her face, and I stifle a groan.

"I didn't think you had Quidditch practise this morning," she chirps.

Without missing a beat though, I come up with a lie on the spot.

"Wood scheduled an extra practice. He's dead set on winning, and pushing us to do more practice," I say, making sure not to make it look like I'm lying.

Hermione studies my face, then shrugs her shoulders, obviously believing me.

"You coming down to breakfast then?" she asks.

"Yeah, but I want to have a shower real quick," I answer.

She nods, and I grab my robes and head towards the bathroom. I have a quick shower, eager for breakfast. Once I'm done, I meet the others at the Gryffindor table. I pray Hermione doesn't bring up Quidditch practice and luck seems to be on my side as we head to our first class, Potions with Slytherins. The lesson goes by good enough, with Snape only giving us grief every ten minutes, and Malfoy only snarking at us a few times. We then head to Charms where we practice the levitation charm. I get a little bored, having mastered the charm already, but I resort to helping Harry and Ron with Hermione. We eat lunch, then head to Transfiguration. I try not to act too awkwardly, giving the conversation that went down last night, but no one asks questions. As McGonagall comes around the class, surveying our improvement, she subtly drops a letter on the ground next to me, and I make my match fly off the desk to retrieve it and store it in my robes. When McGonagall dismisses us, she gives me a look, and I nod my head a little. Next, I sit through a double History of Magic, trying to take notes but getting very bored and distracted. After lessons are done for the day, I make an excuse to go to the library and do some study before dinner. Once I settle down, I pull out the note and read it.

_Your first lesson will be tonight, in Professor Dumbledore's office at 8 pm. I will attend as well. _

It isn't signed, but I recognise McGonagall's handwriting. I stuff the note away again then I make a start on studying, which wasn't a complete excuse. I want to do some extra reading about the subjects we're focusing on right now, so I immerse myself in a book until dinnertime. I pack everything up, then quickly make my way to my dormitory to put all my books for the day away. I meet the trio in the Common Room, and once I've put everything away, we head down to dinner together. I have roast chicken with potatoes and vegetables for dinner and we talk lightly about random things for a bit before Harry brings up the three-headed dog we saw. Hermione and I groan while Ron looks a little frustrated but slightly intrigued. We argue about it for a while, but Hermione and I finish dinner before the boys, as Ron likes to help himself to fourths and fifths, so we decide to head back to the common room to start our homework. I ask Hermione to get some of my things while she goes up to get her textbook, and feeling only a little built guilty, I use that time to leave the common room again and head to Dumbledore's office. When I reach the stone gargoyle, it springs open like it did last night. I walk up the staircase and knock on the wooden door. Too late I realise I'm probably early, but I've already knocked now. The door springs open, and I walk inside. Dumbledore greets me, albeit a little surprised.

"Miss Potter, you're a little earlier than I expected," he says.

"Sorry Professor," I reply, a little embarrassed, "I couldn't get away any other time."

"Don't worry about it, Professor McGonagall will be here shortly," Dumbledore says kindly.

I nod, standing a little awkwardly.

"Come sit if you want," the Headmaster invites.

I smile gratefully before walking over to sit in the chair opposite him. Sure enough, a few minutes later the Professor turns up. Dumbledore rises from his chair, so I quickly get up as well.

"Now, I know you are probably wondering what these lessons will contain," Dumbledore starts. "But we are going to start with the very basics before we get onto any magic."

I try to hide a look of disappointment. I understand why he wants to do it, but that doesn't make me any less upset. Nevertheless, Dumbledore continues.

"The first step to mastering your powers is control. When someone makes you angry, or if you get upset, it will do you no good to blow-up on them. You must learn to rein in your emotions, and not let them get the better of you."

I swallow, thinking about how short my temper is.

"In this room, neither Professor McGonagall nor I will care if you lose control. It's part of learning. However, I must warn you. We will purposely try to rile you up. That's how you will learn to stay calm. Do you understand?"

I nod, hanging off his every word, determined to master this.

"Before we start though," McGonagall says, "We want to know more about you. This will help us understand ways to anger you or make you upset."

I gulp, uncomfortable with having to reveal so much information.

"Don't worry," Dumbledore reassures me. "We will never intentionally use any of the information against you, and it definitely won't be mentioned outside of this class. If there is anything you don't want us knowing, you don't have to tell us, although we encourage you to."

His words are comforting, and I find myself relaxing. Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and launch into my story.

"Harry and I grew up with the Dursleys," I begin, nervously watching the two professors.

They show no indication of interrupting, so I continue.

"They never really liked us, so it wasn't very pleasant. My aunt and uncle always doted on our cousin, Dudley. He's spoiled rotten, so we didn't get much. We only got fed Dudley's scraps, and we always had to cook and clean. Harry was lucky enough to get Dudley's old clothes, but once I was three, I had to make my own. I would be given fabric and a sewing machine, and I had to sew my own clothes. Sometimes Harry would let me have an old shirt that was too big on him, let alone me, but I didn't often get them. I only got a haircut once a year, because they didn't want to waste money on me. We got two minutes in the bathroom each, and we were physically removed if we went over that time. We…we had to share the cupboard under the stairs to sleep in."

I have to clear my throat to keep my emotions in check. Dumbledore looks astounded, and McGonagall pitiful. I ignore them though, and continue, unable to stop.

"Harry would often get nightmares, so I comforted him when he woke up. I had some as well, but they were never as bad as Harry's. At school, we only had each other. Our cousin made sure everyone bullied us and made fun of us. Me in particular, because of my eyes. I would get yelled at many times a day for being 'different'. They claimed it was unnatural. Harry stood up for me, and he tried to protect me. It worked a little bit, and eventually, only Dudley and his friends would annoy us. But it got worse when things happened. When we got yelled at, things would start to shake, and sometimes break. Harry and I never understood what was happening. All we knew was that we would get in trouble every time it did happen. When the letters came, they wouldn't let us read them. My uncle tried to board off the mail slot and he burnt the letters in the fireplace. Of course, that didn't stop them. So, we went to the hotel and then the shack in the sea. We had to sleep on the floor but then Hagrid came, and well, you sort of know the rest I guess," I finish.

I look at the Professor's, but they don't say anything. Eventually, McGonagall regains her senses and rushes over to encircle me in her embrace. I stiffen at first, unsure of what is happening, but then I relax into the hug and cautiously wrap my arms around her. She grips me tightly, and we stay like that for a while. When she pulls away, she looks down at me.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that Isobel," she apologises. "Professor Dumbledore and I will ensure that that will change."

Dumbledore nods firmly, and I can't help the grateful smile that reaches my face. These people barely know me and have no reason to care, but here they are, helping me with my problems.

"I'm so grateful, to both of you," I say. "You don't know how much that means to me."

Dumbledore comes over and smiles down at me.

"It is no problem, my dear. Your wellbeing is extremely important to us."

I blink back the wetness in my eyes.

"Now," Dumbledore says. "I believe that is enough for tonight. Professor McGonagall will give you another note with the details of our next lesson, but for now, retire to your dormitory and get some rest. I believe this was a rather emotional night."

I nod, then thank both of them again. I walk back to Gryffindor Tower, thinking about the lesson and what the two Professors said. I enter through the portrait hole. Unfortunately, Hermione is still up and judging by the look on her face, waiting for me. I groan as I remember I left her without an explanation.

"Where did you go?" she demands as I reach her.

I race my mind to think of an answer.

"I remembered I left a book in the library this afternoon, so I went to go get it," I lie.

Hermione narrows her eyes.

"Why did that take you forty-five minutes?"

I gulp, trying not to look suspicious.

"Madame Pince had moved it, so I had to seek her out to find it. Then one of the Prefects brought me up for wandering around. I had to explain the situation to them."

I wait anxiously, silently begging her to buy it. Finally, she drops the look and smiles.

"Do you want to do that study we were going to do earlier then?"

I sigh with relief and nod. I'm not quite in the mood, but I manage to focus and take some information in. Finally, we pack up and head up to the dormitory. I change into my nightclothes and slip into my bed. I whisper goodnight to Hermione, then drift off into a dreamless sleep.

**Just a little note here. **

**I'm not going to abandon this story. I know everyone says that then five years later you're like 'well where is the rest of the story then' but I promise I won't do that. I plan to write through to the Battle of Hogwarts, and I might even write a sequel. I've written a few keys events and the first bit of the battle already, so it will definitely continue. Thank you all so much for reading this far. I hope to update again soon. Byeee**


	7. Quidditch

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

**Chapter 7**

Now that we had entered November, the weather was getting colder, and Quidditch training was getting much more intense. Wood made us practice every second night for hours at a time, and he even made us train on Sunday, for four hours. It was obvious how much he wanted Gryffindor to win. With all the extra practices, I was only just getting enough time for homework. I haven't had any more private lessons with Dumbledore, because he couldn't find a night I was available. Today is Friday, the day before the first Quidditch match; Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Students were buzzing around the halls, gossiping about how they thought the game will go. The Slytherins were particularly nasty, glaring at every Gryffindor and making rude comments to everyone on the Quidditch team. It seemed that Malfoy had been assigned to Harry and I. Every time we saw him, he would boo in our direction, or mimic falling off a broom. He called insults about not being able to play properly. It was hard, but we managed to ignore him. Still, though, I had trouble focusing on lessons, my mind wandering to all the possibilities of the game tomorrow. I could tell Harry was distracted as well, because he wasn't even attempting to pay attention. He just sat with his quill hovering above his parchment. During a break, Hermione brought us out to the courtyard and conjured up a blue flame to keep us warm. Harry and I were huddled over reading through Quidditch the Ages, a book Hermione had gotten Harry that had taught us a surprising amount about the game. However, Snape appeared, and he confiscated the book. I was so focused on reading the book I didn't even notice him come towards us until Harry took the book out of my hands. I yelped when I saw the Professor. As he walked away I noticed his limp. I narrowed my eyes and studied him. It seemed as though the injury was old, but not enough to stop bothering him. Harry commented on it, but we had no idea what could've happened. We returned to our classes after the break, although I was even more distracted than before. It was a relief once lessons were over for the day. After dinner, the four of us sat near the window, Hermione and I reading through the boys' homework. It managed to take my mind off everything, although I knew it wouldn't work forever. We had just switched to boys' work to double-check everything when Harry stood up saying he wanted to get the book Snape had confiscated back.

"Better you than me," Hermione and Ron answered together.

Harry turned his gaze towards me, and I looked away.

"Sorry Harry, you're on your own. I've got to finish _your _homework," I say apologetically.

Harry sighs, then leaves through the portrait hole. I keep my gaze on the spot he last occupied for a few seconds, then focus back on the parchment in front of me. I scratch out a few words and make a few changes, before pushing it away and looking out the window. Thoughts of Quidditch tomorrow fill my mind, then they flick to Harry. Will Snape give him the book back? I doubt it. All I can hope is that he doesn't get detention or something for tomorrow. Knowing Snape, he'd love to do that. Beside me, Hermione gives a big sigh.

"Honestly Ronald, do you pay attention in class at all?" she asks exasperatedly.

Ron shakes his head guiltily. Hermione humphs, before going back to his work. I turn to Ron.

"What are Harry's latest thoughts on the three-headed dog?" I ask.

Harry knows that Hermione and I don't care about it, but Ron has to put up with his ridiculous theories.

"Well," Ron sighs. "He's not too sure. He thinks it has to be whatever Hagrid took out of that vault, but he has no idea what it could be. It's got to be dangerous he reckons, but extremely valuable. Apart from that, he doesn't really have a clue."

I sigh, wondering what to do with that brother of mine. I know he can fend for himself, but I worry about the danger he could get himself in. A bang across the common room shakes me out of my thoughts, and I engage in a conversation with Ron and Hermione. Suddenly, Harry bursts back into the Common Room.

"Did you get it?" Ron asks. "What's the matter?"

I frown at Harry's panting. In a low voice, he tells us what happened with Snape. I groan as he continues with his stupid theories.

"You know what this means? He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him - he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me. I remember the limp Snape walked with when he confiscated the book, and how it looked old. I recall the date and figure out the Halloween incident was only about two weeks ago. If Snape had been bitten by that dog, there's no way it could;='ve healed properly between then and now. But I'm still hesitant.

Meanwhile, Hermione's eyes go wide.

"No, he – he wouldn't," she says. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

I nod my head, agreeing with her. But apparently, Ron doesn't.

"Honestly, you two, you think all teachers are saints or something," he snaps. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's the dog guarding?"

Normally I would try and argue, but tonight I just can't muster the energy. I shrug my shoulders, then motion to Hermione to come up to our dormitory.

"Get some sleep, Harry. We'll need it for the game tomorrow. Goodnight," I tell them.

I push the thoughts of the night out of my head and try to go to sleep. It takes me a bit, but eventually, I fall into a deep sleep.

The next day, I wake buzzing of energy. Hermione and I head down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and the boys join as not too long after. I have to convince Harry to eat because he's nervous about the game.

"Come on," I urge. "You know what Wood will do if your stomach growls before the game."

Despite himself, he smiles a little bit, then resignedly reaches for a bit of bacon.

Just before eleven, we head down to the Quidditch pitch. Ron and Hermione bid us goodbye, heading to the stands with Neville, Seamus and Dean while Harry and I go to the locker room to change into our scarlet robes. Wood clears his throat.

"Okay, men," he starts.

"And women," said my fellow chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agrees. "This is it."

"The big one," Fred says.

"The big one we've all been waiting for," George continues.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred tells us, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," says Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glares at us to warn us, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

I get a tiny bit nervous as we follow the Weasley's onto the Quidditch Pitch. But hearing the cheering crowd, I am reassured. I glance over at Harry and see that he's slightly pale. I reach over and grab his hand. He looks at me, and I give him a small smile.

'Hey, we'll be fine. Don't worry. Just focus on the Snitch. It's just like practice."

He smiles back at me, and I give his hand a reassuring squeeze before dropping it.

"Now," Madame Hooch says. "I want a nice, fair game from all of you."

I spot the brightly coloured banner in the crowds, sporting a cheering Ron and Seamus and smile.

"Mount your brooms, please."

We all mount our brooms. I push the loose strands of hair that I tied back into a low ponytail off my face, then grip the handle of my Nimbus Two Thousand. Hooch gives her silver whistle a blow, and I kick off into the air.

Angelina immediately takes the Quaffle, and I speed alongside her, keeping an eye on the path to the goalposts. I hear Lee Jordan being reprimanded by McGonagall for something he said while commentating. I focus back on the game. One of the Slytherin chasers comes up near Angelina, so she neatly passes it over to me. I catch it and weave through the green robes. I almost have a clean run, except for another Chaser that will meet me before I can try and score. I pass the Quaffle back to Angelina but groan as it is intercepted by Marcus Flint. I perform a sharp turn and speed back the other way, trying to gain possession of the Quaffle again. Our attempts are futile, as the amount of green robes seems to triple around us, and we can't get a clear opening. Flint goes to score but luckily, Wood executes an excellent move to block it, and Katie Bell takes the Quaffle. I am just about to speed after her when I hear a _whooshing _sound. Not a fraction too late, I veer off the right, dodging the bludger. Unfortunately, Katie doesn't, and I wince as it hits her in the back of the head, knocking her out of control. Pucey gains the Quaffle, and he speeds off toward the goalposts. I quickly make sure Katie is okay before chasing after him. I see another bludger heading his way, sent by one of the twins, and I grin as he's blocked by it. Angelina gets the Quaffle back, and I pour on an extra burst of speed to fly ahead of her, clearing the field. One of the Slytherins send a bludger at her, but she dodges it, continuing towards the goalposts. No one gets in her way and tosses the ball through the hoops.

"Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

I pump my arm in the air, hearing the cheers of the Gryffindors and the boos from the Slytherins. I glance up at Harry and see him looking around for the Snitch. Wood had told him to keep out of the way until he had found it, so he doesn't get attacked before he has to. Focusing back on the game, once the Quaffle is back in play, Slytherin in possession, I race alongside the Slytherin chasers, trying to intercept their passes. I fall just short though, as they pass just out of my reach. Pucey doges the Bludgers sent at him, and the attacks from Katie. Giving up on trying to intercept the Quaffle, I fly ahead and position myself further up to try and get Pucey off track so we can gain the Quaffle. Just then, I hear Lee say something about the Snitch. Pucey drops the Quaffle is dropped, and I speed down to catch it. I have to use both hands to catch it. My broom dips a bit from the weight, but I position the Quaffle in one arm to grip my broom again. However, when I look around, I see that no one is paying attention to the rest of the game. I remember what Lee said about the Snitch, so I look over at Harry. He has just streaked down to chase after the golden blur. I hold my breath as he races the Slytherin seeker – Higgs – to catch it. Side by side, everyone waits in anticipation. I see the look of concentration on Harry's face as he urges his broom faster. He speeds up and goes to reach out for the Snitch when I see Flint flying towards him. Too late, I call out. Flint slams into Harry, and he is spun off course. The Gryffindors all scream and curse as Hooch yells at Flint. She orders a free shot for us, and I take it, scoring the Quaffle through the goalposts easily. Unfortunately, the Snitch was lost in all the confusion, so Harry resumes his spot above the game, looking thoroughly frustrated, yet thankfully, unharmed. Jordan continues commentating the game, getting reprimanded once again by McGonagall.

"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!"

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul…"

"Jordan, I'm warning you-"

"All right, all right."

We take possession of the Quaffle again, only to have Flint take it once more. Angelina has other ideas though and performing a tricky manoeuvre, she manages to make him lose it after only seconds of gaining it. I snatch the Quaffle up from my previously assumed position, pass it to Katie who I have a clear path to, and she tries to pass it back to me, but Flint intercepts it again. I groan as I start to get extremely annoyed with the Slytherin captain. I spot Fred lining up a hit, and grin as Flint gets hit in the face by a bludger. My amusement is short-lived though, and I groan as he keeps hold of the Quaffle and scores through the goalposts. Wood's face looks a mixture of angry, annoyed, upset and confused at the same time. Slytherins cheer loudly while Gryffindor groans as one.

I chance a look at Harry and gasp when I see his broom roll over and he only just manages to hold on. The crowd notices as well, and they all gasp. On instinct, I veer closer to Harry, flying beneath him in case he falls. My heart pumps loudly in my ears as his broom flies all over the place, and it starts vibrating so hard I fear for Harry's life. Fred and George come up as well, trying to pull him off his broom. It doesn't work though, because every time they get near they almost get hit, and the broom just jumps higher. Angelina calls me over, and begrudgingly, I watch as the twins take up my spot, circling beneath him. No one focuses on the game, and I barely glance at Flint as he scores five times. I find myself chewing my fingernails on one hand, my eyes frantically searching for Ron and Hermione down in the crowd to see if they can do anything. However, Hermione is nowhere to be seen. Ron is searching the Professor's stands while Hagrid, who must've appeared at some point during the game, is watching Harry through his binoculars. I follow Ron's line of sight and gasp as I see Snape's robes on fire. Glancing back at Ron, I see him smiling happily, then looking back up at Harry. I snap my eyes back to my brother. Suddenly, he clambers back on his broom and speeds off. I breathe a sigh of relief, mentally filing away a note to talk with Ron and Hermione later. The game begins again, but not thirty seconds later Harry speeds towards to ground. He claps his hand over his mouth and hits the field on all fours. I swing my broom around, looking to see if he's alright. He coughs, and I can't believe my eyes as something gold falls into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch," he yells, waving it above his hand.

I stare in complete confusion as the game ends.

"HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!" Lee Jordan yells. "Gryffindor has won the game."

Deafening cheers erupt from the stands as I fly back down to the ground, where Harry is being congratulated and ruffled over the head by our fellow Quidditch members. I grin as I dismount my broom and make my way over to him. I whoop as I wrap him in a massive hug.

"Oh my god, Harry. You did so well," I congratulate him, all worries of the game evaporating.

He grins, and I let go of him to let him enjoy the praise from the rest of the Gryffindors.

Twenty minutes later, Flint is still complaining we didn't win the game properly while Lee is still shouting out the results. Hermione and Ron catch up to us, and we head down to Hagrid's hut to have a cup of tea. My worries come back to me as I remember the commotion from Harry's broom.

'It was Snape," Ron explains. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick Harry, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

I gasp as he says this, not wanting to believe it.

"Rubbish," Hagrid says. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

The four of us exchange a look before telling him.

"I found out something about him," Harry stars cautiously. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

A smash sounds as Hagrid drops the teapot he was holding.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he asks incredulously.

"Fluffy?" I ask, astounded.

Hagrid looks at me.

"Yeah – he's mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub last' year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –"

"Yes?" Harry jumps in.

Hagrid looks angry.

"Now, don't ask me anymore. That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it," Ron cuts in.

"Rubbish," Hagrid repeats. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

I glance at Hermione as he says that, raising my eyebrows. Before we had believed that, but I wasn't so sure anymore.

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" she cries, agreeing with me. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid."

I nod my head, supporting her statement.

'I've read all about them!" she continues. "You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

Hagrid looks ready to burst.

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" he says angrily. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student!"

Ron scoffs at this.

"Now, listen to me, all three of yeh," Hagrid continues, ignoring him. "Yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-"

My ears perk up at that. Flamel.

"Aha!" Harry says. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid stutters, looking furious with himself. He shoos us off, and the four of us eave his cabin, much happier than we came in.

"Nicolas Flamel," I say. "I'm sure I've read that before."

Frustrated, I pull at my hair.

"Oh, where did I read it?"

All I receive is empty looks. I groan, racing my mind. But for the life of me, I can't remember.

"Darn it," I sigh.

**I little bit of familiar stuff here, I know, but it's sort of an important part of the story, so I wanted to include it. **


	8. The Horror

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

**Chapter 8**

The days turn into weeks as we progress into the school year. Every afternoon we have free, Hermione and I are in the library, looking for information on Nicolas Flamel, whoever that may be. Sometimes Harry and Ron join us, but we still don't manage to find anything. Quidditch practices are continuing, although Wood has laid off a little now that we don't have another match for a few months. I've done a few more lessons with Dumbledore and McGonagall, but it's mostly been just telling them more about my growing up. By the third lesson, I was able to pretty much completely relax, and my story came out easier. The professors had held true to their word, and they never mentioned anything to do with our sessions outside of Dumbledore's office. I found myself going into more detail in my recounts, my mind wanting to get everything out. Dumbledore would sit quietly and patiently, not saying anything until I finished, or needed a breath. McGonagall was mostly the same, although sometimes she would let out a gasp or a word of protest. I was learning to see another side of the woman outside of teaching. Of course, she didn't show it in class, but I can see a relaxed and compassionate side to her, that's quite motherly and affectionate. Sometimes when I told a particularly hard part, she would come up beside me and wrap her arm around me and hold me as I spoke.

When classes are done for the day, I retire to the common room for some rest before dinner and my session with Dumbledore tonight. I relax in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, and I find my eyes slowly drooping. Trusting someone to wake me up later, I give in to the pull of sleep. Unfortunately, my subconscious has other ideas, and I am tugged into a waiting dream. Unlike most of my other dreams, in this one, I have a bird's eye view over the scenery. I gasp when I realise what I'm seeing.

_A younger Albus Dumbledore, accompanied by an equally younger Minerva McGonagall stands outside a muggle house. In each of their arms, a small bundle lays. From the one in Dumbledore's arms, a cry sounds. Humming quietly, the professor rocks the baby in his arms, urging the child back to sleep. Finally, the crying stops, and reluctantly, Dumbledore lays the bundle on the ground in front of the door. He places a note in the blankets the baby is wrapped in and whispers something. _

"_I'm so sorry my dear boy, I hope one day you can forgive me for this. Good luck, Harry Potter."_

_Blinking back tears, I watch as my brother sleeps on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. I want to go to him and snatch him away, to stop him from growing up in that terrible life. But I know it's just a dream, and I can't do anything about it. _

_Dumbledore then turns to McGonagall, and I gasp as I look at myself as a baby, wrapped in blankets and snuggled in the older witch's arms. Dumbledore wipes a tear from McGonagall's face, blinking back the wetness in his own eyes. _

"_Be strong Minerva. We have to do this; it is the only way to keep them safe," he consoles. _

_I can tell he is fighting himself against this idea, but sense wins out. He grasps McGonagall's arms and they lean down together to place baby Isobel down next to Harry. Dumbledore pulls out a note, reads it, then goes to seal it in an envelope. Before he can though, something flies past him and sheds a red feather. It glides through the air, eventually landing amongst the black mess of my hair. My eyes widen as it disappears. Dumbledore smiles the smallest smile, then seals the envelope and places it in baby Isobel's blankets like he did Harry's. _

"_I didn't want to do this," Dumbledore whispers to the baby. "Stay safe, Isobel."_

_The professors straighten up reluctantly, and McGonagall tries to hold back a sob. The older wizard wraps her in his arms, and they embrace, before finally apparating away. As they do, I feel a hand on my arm._

I blink, disorientated from my dream. In front of me, Harry stands, looking down at me with worried eyes. I weave my hand into my hair, finding the red strand with my fingers. Could it -? No. I shake my head to clear it of the dream, then smile at him.

"Hey," I say, getting up from the chair.

Harry doesn't reply, instead, he reaches over and wipes a tear from my cheek, frowning.

"You were crying," he says.

I quickly wipe the rest of the tears from my cheeks.

"It was just a dream," I reassure him.

He nods, but the worry doesn't leave his eyes. I lay my hand on his arm.

"I'm okay, really," I say, not breaking my gaze from him.

I can see he's still bothered, but most of his worry abides.

"It's dinnertime," he says softly.

I nod, and we exit the portrait hole together.

"How are you?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

We've been around Ron and Hermione so much recently that we haven't spoken just with each other much. It's different from what it was at the Dursley's, where the only entertainment we had was each other.

"I'm alright," he says, smiling a little. "What about you?"

"I'm good," I say nodding.

We walk in silence for a little bit. I glance over at my brother and see him opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something, but then decides against it. I roll my eyes.

"Spit it out," I say impatiently.

Harry looks a little guiltily at me.

"I was really worried about you when you fainted. Ever since then, you've been a little distant. I can't help but think you're hiding something from me."

I falter a little in my steps. I knew this would come eventually, but I wasn't sure when.

"Have I?" I feign confusion.

Harry buys it and nods.

"You're not talking as much with the three of us, some nights you disappear for hours at a time, claiming you forgot something, or you need to study. But I don't think you're that forgetful, and you get plenty of study in after classes and dinner."

I don't reply. I really want to tell him what's happening. But I know that I shouldn't. Dumbledore told me not to, and he seemed insistent. Although I know he's not telling me a lot of things, I trust him.

"I didn't realise. I guess I've been so invested in learning everything there is to know I've been forgetting things and not socialising with you guys a lot. I'm really sorry," I say innocently.

The confused look leaves Harry's face, replaced by happiness.

"Oh, I didn't realise. For some reason, I thought you were hiding something from us. But of course, you're just distracted. I can never pull you out of a book once you've got your nose in it."

Harry smiles jokingly. I laugh a little, relieved that he bought it. By now we've almost reached the Great Hall, so we don't talk anymore. We walk inside to the Gryffindor table, where Ron is stuffing his face and Hermione is shaking her head at him. We sit down, and I start talking with Hermione about what we did in classes today. Quite quickly, people seemed to realise that we were, not to be boastful, the tops of the grade. I seem to be better at Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but we are pretty evenly matched with the rest of the subjects. Dumbledore says a few words, then we dig into dinner. Upon seeing Dumbledore, my dream comes back to me. I can't help but wonder why the professors had such different reactions to putting me down then Harry. Unconsciously my hand winds into my hair again and plays with the strands. Did they know I would be more powerful? Did they know what would happen to me? I shudder at the thought, pushing it away. I release the foreign strand my fingers had found, then return to my dinner. Afterwards, we get up to return to the common room. Before we can though, I deliver my excuse.

"Um, guys. I was, well, I was thinking about maybe spending more time with some of the other houses. So I was going to um…well –"

"That's alright," Hermione cuts me off, sending a glare to the protesting boys. "You can do what you want."

I smile gratefully at her. The boys avoid my eyes, and I feel a little guilty. They go ahead of me, as I look around at the other house tables to make it look like I'm considering which house to hang out with. Once they are gone, I look back to the Staff table. I catch Dumbledore's eyes, and he nods a little. About a minute passes before he gets up and leaves the table. I soon follow, and I walk slowly to his office. When I get there, the gargoyle is just moving aside for McGonagall. She greets me, and we ascend the steps together. McGonagall knocks on the door, and a second later we enter.

"Ah," Dumbledore says when he sees us. "Perfect timing."

McGonagall takes up her regular stance beside Dumbledore, and I stand in front of them.

"Isobel," McGonagall starts.

I am surprised by her name use. I have no problem with it, in fact, I invited them to use my name in private company, but she had never used it before except when she was comforting me.

"Are you ready?" she continues.

I swallow, realising what she means. The past few lessons had been me telling the professors a few more things about my upbringing. But Dumbledore had suspected there was something I hadn't told them yet, and he was right. I hadn't brought myself to tell them because I didn't want to relive it, or even accept it. I certainly didn't want anyone knowing. But the Headmaster and his Deputy had convinced me to tell them in the next lesson, the last lesson. That meant I would have to reveal it tonight.

"I uh…" I reply.

Dumbledore looks at me kindly.

"I understand that this is very hard for you Isobel, but I think it is important for us to know," he says softly.

I look into his twinkling blue eyes and see nothing but kindness and patience in them. Deep down I know I can tell them. I know they won't judge me. They won't think less or more of me. They won't hurtfully use this against me. But every fibre of my being tells me not to. Screams at me to leave the room and never come back. The very thought of telling them makes me shudder. It brings back the memories that I never want to remember. But I can't push it back. If I don't face it, it will consume me. So, with a great, shaking breath, I tell the horror.

**Sorry! I know this chapter is a little short and left on a cliff hanger, but it was a really good spot to cut the chapter. Hope you enjoyed:)**


	9. Memories

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

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**WARNING!**

**This chapter talks about physical abuse and rape. There isn't much detail about it, but it is spoken about and the emotions this caused are displayed. If you do not wish to read, you don't have to. I will recap anything I mentioned in this chapter, next chapter, so you don't miss out. You've been warned.**

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Recap of the last chapter:

_I look into his twinkling blue eyes and see nothing but kindness and patience in them. Deep down I know I can tell them. I know they won't judge me. They won't think less or more of me. They won't hurtfully use this against me. But every fibre of my being tells me not to. Screams at me to leave the room and never come back. The very thought of telling them makes me shudder. It brings back the memories that I never want to remember. But I can't push it back. If I don't face it, it will consume me. So, with a great, shaking breath, I tell the horror._

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**Chapter 9**

"Ever since I was seven, Harry and I were abused by the Dursleys. Physically. Aunt Petunia never touched us, but Uncle Vernon and Dudley always did. They would hit us and sometimes beat us. They never hit us on the face, because then people would be able to see it. They hit us where our clothes could hide it. What made it worse though was it wasn't just them. The kids at our muggle school would also hurt us because Dudley convinced them to. Our bruises never healed, and our cuts would be reopened. They never went as far as to break bones, because then we would have to be taken to the hospital, and they would ask questions. But that almost made it worse. We weren't hit hard, so they made up for it by hitting over and over again. And we had to take it. If we cried out they went further. If we winced while walking it happened again. We had to stay quiet and unmoving while we took it, and we couldn't show pain afterwards. Whenever we did…" I trail off, memories overtaking me.

I remember all the times Uncle Vernon and Dudley and all his friends had hurt us. _All the times._ If I spilled something on the kitchen bench, five minutes of beating. If I burnt the food, five minutes of beating. If I spoke before I was spoken to, five minutes of beating. If I didn't do all the jobs I'd been assigned, ten minutes of beating. If I came out of the cupboard without permission, twenty minutes of beating. If I did something out of the ordinary, half an hour of beating. For four years, that was my daily life. Follow the rules, don't do anything your not allowed to. After the beating, I would have to correct my mistake. When I was allowed to go back to the cupboard, I let the tears fall. I couldn't make any sound, but my shoulders would shake, and my vision would blur. Sometimes Harry would find me and clean me up. Others times we leant on each other's shoulders, letting out our misery together. Afterwards, we would wipe the tears away, and try to forget what had happened. On and on, the cycle repeated itself. So much, that it became unnatural if we were treated well. After Diagon Alley, the Dursleys didn't disturb us. It was unsettling.

Pushing the emotion back and blinking tears away I continue.

"But that wasn't the worst bit. Not for me. For me, Uncle Vernon would wait until Harry was busy. Doing an endless amount of jobs or homework or something like that. Then he would call me out. I would go to him, shaking, fearing another round of beating. But he took it to a whole new level."

My voice shakes a little as I make the decision to tell them what happened next. But fear creeps up on me again. What would they think? What would they do? I could barely stomach the thought of it and the idea of telling someone else scared me to my core. No one else knew. I try to take a few more deep breaths, to calm myself, but it doesn't work. I desperately try and fail to blink the tears away, not bothering to wipe them away. Suddenly I hear a clatter. One of the trinkets on Dumbledore's desk had started to shake, then it fell off. Looking around the room, I notice various objects also shaking and moving. I try to control myself as Dumbledore said, but I can't help it. More objects fall to the ground. Overwhelmed, my knees give out beneath me, and I sink to the floor. Instantly, McGonagall comes up to me, worry written all over her face.

"Shh," she whispers. "You're alright. You're alright. We're here. You're safe."

Dumbledore comes up to us. Together, their strong arms wrap around my frame, and with a great effort they stand me up, supporting most of my weight. McGonagall continues whispering comforting words, slowly calming me down a little. The professors guide me to a chair, and I take a seat. They follow suit, drawing up two chairs in front of me. They don't say anything, they just wait for me to regain some control. Somehow, the feeling of being in this room, with only the two professors, who I had learned to trust and respect, calmed me. Slowly, very slowly, the memories fade a little. I focus on the professor's faces, to keep me grounded in the present. It works, and I calm down enough to carry on.

"He would lead me into another room," I start. "He'd lock the door so no one could interrupt. I was so scared. The first time it happened, I didn't know what he was going to do to me. I was so young, and the thought… it never even crossed my mind. He –"

I close my eyes, not sure how to say it. I don't focus on anything. I school my face into a neutral form, keeping all emotion from it. I say it like a fact.

"He abused me. He abused my body."

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_Minerva's POV_

I gasp. The horror of the girl's words sinks in. I start to shake with anger. The idea of that man, any man, laying his hands on this poor, innocent child's body is too hard to stomach. Rage stabs at me, and the trinkets in the room start to shake more violently, doubled with my anger. Since these lessons started, my connection with Isobel had started to grow. I'd learned to care about her in an almost motherly way. The stories she told Albus and I pulled at my heartstrings. The girl is only eleven, yet she's been through so much pain in her life already. It almost breaks me to know that the real struggle is yet to come. I want so badly to ease her pain and take all her troubles and worries away. But, of course, that's not possible. The best I can do is be by her sided and guide and support her as much as possible. Knowing this, I force myself to calm down. I force my emotions back under control. The purpose of these meetings is to teach Isobel restraint. How could I do that if I couldn't even set a proper example? So I focus on the happy memories. I push the anger and sadness away. Years of practice makes it much easier, yet still, the thought of what happened to Isobel nags at me. I close my eyes, bringing good memories to the surface. The day I first met Albus. Classes with him. Learning how to become an Animagus. Our first kiss. Our wedding.

Slowly, my magic reigns in, until finally, it locks away.

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_Meanwhile, Isobel's POV_

There. It'd been said. McGonagall gasps audibly. I'm almost afraid to open my eyes. When I do, McGonagall is shaking, and Dumbledore's eyes are fuelled with rage. There is no hint of a twinkle in them. I can see them fighting to stay in control. In our previous lessons, Dumbledore had told me that McGonagall and he struggled with the same problem when they were younger. They had to learn control, just like I have to. I didn't think I would see them lose control. They're both so aware of their emotions and can keep a hold on them with ease. But right now, I see them struggling.

I don't say anything. I don't know what _to_ say. So I wait. I wait for them as they did me. Watching in amazement at their somehow still maintained control, I study them as they focus, trying to take note on how to control myself. They both seem to be breathing evenly, and their eyes a closed. Probably focusing on something. I gradually, see the restraint come back. I realise they must have been affecting the trinkets in the room as well because they stop moving as much, although they are still buzzing a little from me. They open their eyes, and I notice the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes hasn't reappeared, but the rage has dispersed. McGonagall stops shaking, and slowly, they both relax a little.

"Apologies for that," Dumbledore says, his voice a little hard.

He clears his throat before continuing in a much kinder voice.

"I'm so sorry you had to endure that while growing up Isobel. By the time you have to leave Hogwarts, this will be sorted out."

There is a little bit of a pause before McGonagall speaks up.

"I think maybe we should cut this lesson a little short – "

"No," I interrupt.

McGonagall looks at me.

"I mean. Sorry," I say. "I don't want to stop. I want to learn something."

McGonagall looks flabbergasted, and Dumbledore slightly impressed. I continue.

"I've finally told you everything. I want you to teach me how to control this. Please."

I look at them. They look at each other. They have one of their silent conversations I'd noticed before. Finally, Dumbledore looks back at me.

"As long as you're ready?" he asks.

I nod.

"Alright. Let's begin."

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**I know, I'm sorry. This chapter is even shorter than then the last one. Again, thank you so much for reading and I hope you are enjoying this story. Please leave a review. **


	10. Control

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

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**Just a little recap for those who might not have read the last chapter. Isabelle was raped and abused by Vernon Dursely when she was a child. She told McGonagall and Dumbledore and they shared a small moment. This chapter carries on from the this, but nothing is mentioned in too much detail. Isabelle is now into the proper lesson, still in the same lesson though. So...carrying on.**

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**Chapter 10**

_Isobel's POV_

"The first step to control is to focus on your breathing and making sure it's even," Dumbledore starts.

I nod, remembering the deep breaths the professors were taking before.

"Sometimes this will be enough," he continues. "Sometimes that's all it will take to calm down. But if it's not, it helps to have a good memory. Something you can think about that calms you down, makes you happy."

I bite my lip, not wanting to point out a have very few happy memories. They realise though, and McGonagall pipes in.

"It doesn't strictly have to be a memory; it can be a dream or an idea. It just needs to be something that makes you happy."

I smile, relieved.

"Yes," Dumbledore continues. "When you feel yourself getting upset or angry, you should focus on that. Bring forth the feeling you get when you think about it. Happiness or calmness. This helps you to control your magic because it distracts you. It causes negative feelings to abide."

Dumbledore pauses to make sure I'm following. I nod to signal my understanding.

"Can you think of something?" McGonagall asks gently.

I think. I try to think of a memory as Dumbledore suggested, but none of them seems right. There's some with Harry, Ron and Hermione, but I don't think they're strong enough. I try to think of something calming. Leaning on Harry's shoulder after a hard day was always comforting. I ponder that, wondering if it will be good enough.

"I might have one," I say. "I'm not sure if the emotion is strong enough though."

"That's alright," Dumbledore says. "That's what these lessons are for. To help you find the right one."

I nod.

"But I wouldn't be surprised if you can't think of a good one," he suddenly says.

I frown, a little confused.

"Your childhood was quite bad and full of misery," Dumbledore continues. "Just thinking about how much you and your brother would've been hurt and mistreated…"

I purse my lips, not saying anything.

"But if I'm being honest," Dumbledore carries on. "I'm disappointed. I mean, Mr Potter is the Boy who Lived, I would have expected better from him. You would think he could defend himself."

Anger builds up in me as his words sink in. I can't believe that he would say this. He said he wouldn't use any of the information I gave him against me. And now he throws it back at me?

"But you, Isobel," Dumbledore continues, oblivious to my anger. "What did you do? You just stood there and took it. You know, at first, I was impressed by you. You seemed so powerful and had so much potential. But now I hear this, and I don't know what to do. You could have done something to defend yourself, but instead, you cried about your misfortune."

The reality of his words hits me like a ton of bricks and dread settles over me. I try to shake it away though, as Dumbledore carries on and continues with his harsh words. I look at McGonagall, seeing if she will do anything. Surely the Headmaster can't say things like this to me? But she looks disappointed as well, and sadness flickers in her eyes. I desperately try to blink back tears as a feeling of betrayal hits me. Her as well? I am just about to look to the ground, unable to look at them, when something clicks. In the corner of my vision, I had noticed a silver device shaking a little. Then I realised they were doing this on purpose. Dumbledore's words come back to me.

"_We will purposely try to rile you up. That's how you will learn to stay calm."_

With this realisation, I square my shoulders and stare right at the professor. He notices and starts talking louder, saying hasher things. His words hit me, but I try to ignore them, focusing on my breathing as he said. I start to calm down a little, but then I start listening to his words again. Not giving up, I desperately try to remember all the times Harry and I had sat together under the cupboard, leaning on each other's shoulders. I focus on those moments, trying to bring forth that calm feeling. Dumbledore's voice rips through though and I lose my focus. My memories turn dark, and tears prick at my eyes once again. I'm tempted to call it quits and have a break. Try again later. But then a little voice inside me tells me to keep going. To not give up. Determined, I race my mind for a better memory or thought.

"Failure. Disappointment. Good riddance."

Dumbledore's words break through me like a knife. He's right. I'm a failure. I couldn't protect myself, or Harry. The professors were right to give me to the Dursley's. I'm a disgrace to be called Harry's sister.

I sink deeper and deeper into oblivion. Dark thoughts overwhelm me and flood my mind. The darkness keeps seeping through. The only thing keeping me from completely collapsing is Dumbledore's voice. His words lose meaning, but the sound of his voice, despite its harshness right now, is my light in the dark. He had become, in my mind, a parental figure. He cared for me and spoke and looked at me with such kindness that I couldn't help but use his voice as a beacon of hope. With the last bit of my strength, I focus everything I have on him. It causes something in me to spark. I try to think of a time his voice was especially light. My mind flicks back to the dream I had before this lesson. Where I was cradled in Dumbledore's arms as a baby. I imagine my conscious at that moment. The warmth of the blankets that surrounded me and his arms that held me. The tickle of his beard as it lightly hit my arm. His voice, soothing me into a deep sleep. Now I truly understand what Dumbledore meant by using that feeling. He didn't mean to try and spread that feeling all over my body in the present. He meant to revel in that moment of the past. The room and the professors fade around me, and all I am pulled into that memory. All I can see is black as my baby's eyelids close. My ears open to the unintelligible words Dumbledore murmurs to soothe the baby in his arms. I feel the gentle swaying as he rocks me back and forth. A true feeling of calm and ease flows over me. All my worries fade away, and I feel like I'm floating on a cloud. Slowly, the darkness fades. A light emerges and I reach out to it. Taking hold of it, it pulls me forward, and I'm brought back to the present. I open my eyes, not realising I had closed them. As I look around, I see Dumbledore and McGonagall smiling at me, pride shining in their eyes. I see that nothing is shaking or ringing. I'm in complete control. Despite what just happened, I can't fight the smile that forms across my face. Somehow, I managed to fight it, and I won. It took time, and I'm exhausted, but I still did it. McGonagall comes up to me and wraps me in her embrace. I sink into it, revelling in the safe feeling. I notice Dumbledore hang back though, so I break away and walk up to him. Before I can anything, he beats me to it.

"I'm so sorry Isobel, I felt terrible saying all those things."

He looks so upset that I have to believe him.

"It's okay," I say. "It wouldn't have worked if you had told me beforehand."

To reassure him that I'm not angry at him, I take his hand and squeeze it a little, giving him a small smile. When I first met him, I would never have dared. But now I had no hesitations. I thought about telling him what memory I used, but I decided against it. Instead, I let go of his hand then walked back a little.

"Shall we try again?" I ask.

McGonagall speaks up.

"Not tonight."

I'm about to protest but Dumbledore cuts me off.

"She's right," he agrees. "This has been a very beneficial lesson already. I can see you're exhausted Isobel, so anymore won't do anything. Plus, it's late," he pointed out.

Sighing a little, partly relieved, partly disappointed, I nod. The professors bid me goodnight, and I exit the office. I'm about to head back to Gryffindor tower when I realise I told the others I would try and sleep elsewhere tonight. I debate telling them they didn't want me there, but part of me wants the night alone. So I decide to spend the night in the guest rooms, where I did the first night. I know Dumbledore will understand, and it won't make any difference because Hogwarts doesn't get guests. I let the golden path lead me and find the room I slept in before. I recall the pattern Dumbledore traced to get in and pray it works for me. Miraculously, it does, and the door springs open. I go inside and quickly have a shower before collapsing into the bed. I toss and turn for a while, trying to fall asleep. Eventually, I give up and lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling through my head. I think about the events of the night. A part of me is still in denial about telling them about Uncle Vernon. It seems like I've let them into every aspect of my life, which I suppose I have, but telling them that seems wrong. Like I should've just forgotten about it and never mentioned it. Like it should be locked deep down inside me and never let out. I'm tempted to run back to his office and somehow make them forget what I told them. But the realistic part of me knows that I can't, and what's done is done. I flick my mind back to their reactions. They were obviously angry and upset, but it seemed to motivate them even more. There was a determined look in Dumbledore's eyes as he began to anger me and McGonagall seemed steeled like she was ready to do anything to make sure I learnt control. Whatever it was, I could tell they were invested in my learning and didn't think less of me for it. For that, I am extremely grateful. I was afraid it would alter their views on me, and to know that it didn't, relieved me heaps. I sigh into the dark. Knowing I won't be able to sleep for a bit, I get up and walk to the window in the bedroom. I look out over the Forest and watch the moon. It spills light upon the sky, and the stars shine brighter than I have ever seen them. I stand there, just watching the night sky, for who knows how long. Finally, I return to my bed, falling into sleep quickly. But it is not peaceful.

_I am nine years old, sitting in the dark of the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was sleeping after a full day of work. Aunt Petunia was cooking in the kitchen while Dudley was watching television. Uncle Vernon's voice rung out, calling for me. Shaking, I stood up and exited the cupboard. I walked into the kitchen to see my uncle. All he said was,_

"_Follow me."_

_I did, and he led me upstairs to his office. He made me go in first, and when he entered, he locked the door behind him. Tears pricked my eyes as I knew what was happening. This wasn't the first time. I knew from before what I had to do. Stand still, and don't make any noise. Let him do what he wanted. So that's what I did. Fighting back tears, I stood like a statue. When it was over, he shoved me out the door. I ran down to the shower, scrubbing myself furiously to try and get rid of the feeling and the memory. I let my tears flow down my cheeks, carried away by the stream of water. Hurriedly, I dried myself and got dressed, exiting the bathroom just as Aunt Petunia was about to bang on the door to get me out. I walked past her and went back to the little cupboard. Curling up beside Harry, my body shook as I cried myself to sleep. I didn't get dinner that night because I had gotten in trouble the night before._

* * *

When I wake up, I can feel dried tears on my cheeks. Nothing new, I get up and have a quick shower before heading down to breakfast. Walking into the Great Hall, I look around at the Christmas decorations. Now that the holiday was approaching, the castle was getting into the festive spirit. I glumly walk past it all to where Harry and Ron are sitting. I don't speak to them, and when they try and make conversation with me I just shake my head to discourage them. I go through the rest of the day like clockwork, until I reach the last lesson of the day, Transfiguration. Knowing McGonagall will ask questions if I appear out of sorts, I try and pull myself together. I pay attention, mastering the new task first try, and offering small pointers to the others occasionally. Whenever McGonagall walks past, I engage in conversation with them, then stop as soon as she passes. Harry tries to get answers out of me, but I don't talk to him. When the lesson ends, McGonagall dismisses us, and I think I've gotten off the hook. But just as I am about to exit the classroom she calls me back. Stopping in my tracks, I take a breath before turning back to her. She doesn't speak until the last student is gone, then she flicks her wand to shut and lock the door. The _'click' _of the door unintentionally makes me jump, as it reminds me of my dream last night. I furiously push that thought away though. Unfortunately, McGonagall notices.

"Isobel, are you alright?" she asks gently.

I immediately nod.

"I'm fine," I say.

She casts her gaze over me. I shift uncomfortably a little. McGonagall sighs.

"Okay. What's wrong?" she tries again.

I try to dissuade her, shaking my head and telling her nothing's wrong. But she just stares at me. Eventually, I give in, unable to resist her look.

"I just had a bad dream last night. Some old memories had been stirred up, so they came back to me."

McGonagall's gaze softens.

"Oh," she says. "I'm sorry Isobel. You were pushed very hard last night."

I shake my head.

"No, it's alright," I protest. "It was necessary. It's just hard to shake that feeling."

McGonagall's emerald eyes shine with pity.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks gently.

I shake my head again.

"No, it's fine," I say. "Just talking about it helped me already. Thank you."

She smiles a little before letting me go. After that conversation, my mood lightens considerably. I apologise to the trio.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't get much sleep last night," I explain. "So, I'm a bit tired and not in a great mood. I didn't mean to brush you off before."

"It's alright," Harry says understandingly. "Just as long as nothing's wrong."

I smile and shake my head.

"I'm alright."

He smiles back at me before asking me how last night went. I stare at him a bit, confused. Then I remember he thinks I was with a different house.

"Er, okay," I lie. "I went to Hufflepuff. They didn't really do anything about it."

I figure that's most believable because the Hufflepuffs are the kindest and wouldn't ask many questions. They believe my bluff and carry on the conversation they were having before I joined them. This time, I join in, and we soon end up laughing and enjoying ourselves. I spend the night with Hermione, reading and studying library books while the other two entertained themselves. We don't speak much and end up calling it a night when our eyelids start drooping. We head up our dormitory, bidding goodnight to the boys. I fall asleep almost as soon as I draw the covers over myself, relieved when my sleep remains undisturbed.


	11. Dreams

**Chapter 11**

* * *

As Christmas got closer, Malfoy kept getting nastier. He was now making snide comments to the rest of the Houses, rather than just the Gryffindors. It seemed since we beat Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch he was much angrier with us. Every potions lesson was a test to our tempers, and it became increasingly harder to ignore him. After one particular instance, we meet Hagrid as he hauls another Christmas tree into the Great Hall. We talk for a little bit, then head off to the library to look for more information on Nicolas Flamel, despite Hagrid's attempts to dissuade us. Despite our best efforts though, we just couldn't find anything. There seemed to be no record of him. I had considered asking Dumbledore, but then immediately disregarded the idea, because I knew he wanted to keep it secret from us. Unfortunately, Hermione had to go home for the holidays. Obviously, Harry and I were staying, and we were glad when Ron told us he was also staying. After bidding goodbye to Hermione and some other students who were leaving, we returned to the common room which was much emptier than usual. We played games of chess and our dormitories were empty except for us. Of course, the boys didn't give Flamel a second thought, but I visited the library sometimes, trying my best to find something out about the wizard. But to no avail, I couldn't find anything. Finally, Christmas Eve arrived. There was an excited buzz of chatter in the Great Hall that night, and I went to bed dreaming about the feast we would have tomorrow. When I wake the next morning, I am extremely surprised when I see gifts at the end of my bed. Excitedly, I look over them. I decide I can open most of them with Harry and Ron in their dormitories, so I go to gather them up in my arms. But then a letter on the outside of one of the presents catches my attention. It's attached to a small parcel. I pick it up, ripping the envelope off. It's addressed to me in familiar handwriting. Opening it, I read the message in it.

_Merry Christmas Isobel!_

_\- Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall_

The letter was written by McGonagall, and I smile when I read it. I decide to open their present before I go to the boys. I rip open the wrapping, and gasp as a gold necklace falls out. Upon closer inspection, I realise it's a locket. I carefully pry apart the two sides and smile when I see a beautiful couple smiling at me. Unlike the magical portraits I'd become accustomed to seeing, this photo was taken on a muggle camera, so the image is still. I study the image. The woman has long red hair and a beautiful face with bright green eyes, and the man has messy black hair and hazel eyes, which were slightly covered by his glasses. Suddenly, I realise who they are. My parents. The similarity between Harry and our father, even though our father was much older, is astounding. Looking at our mother, I can also see where we got our eyes from. I push my hair away and clasp the chain around my neck. I hold the locket for a few seconds before letting it go and quickly getting dressed. I then gather up the rest of my presents once again and head over to the boy's dormitory where I see them just stirring.

"Merry Christmas!" I greet cheerily.

I plonk myself down on the edge of Harry's bed, separating our presents slightly.

"Merry Christmas!" the greet back groggily.

When Harry sees the presents, his eyes light up.

"We got presents?" he asks.

I nod, smiling. At the Dursleys, we never got presents. Instead, Dudley would get three times the regular amount. Neither of us was expecting any this year, so to see some is very rewarding. We all dug into our presents, excited to see what we got. We ended up with a present each from Hagrid – a wooden flute for Harry and a small book on Magical Creatures for me – a fifty-pence piece from the Dursleys which we gave to Ron, matching emerald green sweaters from Mrs Weasley with an H on Harry's and an I on mine and fudge, and Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. Harry also got another present, which Ron told us was an invisibility cloak. The note wasn't signed, so whoever gave it to him wanted to remain unknown. I had a suspicion though, which was confirmed when I read the note. I recognise Dumbledore's handwriting saying the cloak had been left in his possession the night our father died. I don't say anything, respecting Dumbledore's wishes to remain unnamed. I show Harry my locket, saying the same person who'd given him the cloak gave me it. Still the truth, just not all of it. Suddenly, the doors to the dormitory burst open and George and Fred Weasley enter the room.

"Hey look, you two have Weasley jumpers too," George says.

They had matching blue ones on, with an F and a G on them respectively.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," Fred says. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

I giggle a little at his tone of voice.

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demands. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

Ron complains about hating maroon but pulls it on anyway. George observes that Ron hasn't got a letter on his.

"I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid – we know we're called Gred and Forge."

I laugh as Percy's voice comes from the doorway. He's carrying his own jumper over his arm which the twins force over his head. He glares at them as he fixes his glasses. When we enter the Great Hall, I am amazed by the amount of food on the tables. We all sit together at the Gryffindor table and talk merrily amongst ourselves. George and I pull a wizard cracker which explodes in a green puff of smoke and emits several Christmas beetles. Laughing, I look up to the Head Table and smile at Dumbledore who is wearing a flowery bonnet instead on his wizard's hat. Next to him is McGonagall who I also smile at. I finger my new locket and mouth _thank you _to them. I don't know if they understand what I said, but they nod, guessing by my gesture. Returning to my meal I am consumed in the festiveness. The rest of the day turns out to be by far the best Christmas I've ever had. I go to bed smiling, thinking of all the joys the day brought me. I fall into an almost immediate sleep. Unfortunately, it is not all dreamless.

_I'm in a familiar room, surrounded by wooden bars. __In a crib, I realise. __The room is dark, and it takes my eyes to adjust. I'm looking up at the roof, so I know I'm looking through my baby eyes. Suddenly, I hear a disturbance outside the room. Suddenly my vision changes so I'm now standing in the middle of the room, able to look down upon myself. Next to my own crib, is another, and I don't bother looking in it because I know it's Harry. I'm in a bedroom, and two figures are sleeping in a bed not far from the crib. I can't move though to see their faces, but I know it's my parents. Then I hear the disturbance again. In the crib, I roll over but do not wake. I try to shout out, sensing something is about to go wrong. But I can't make any sound. I'm forced to wait. Not long passes before the door is blasted open and several people in masks run inside, shouting curses. My parents in the bed wake up, immediately jumping out of their bed. Not even using their wands, they send two of the figures flying. They go to turn on the last one, but he's already gone. I look back towards the cribs and gasp as I realise they are empty. The last thing I hear before my dream changes is my mother scream for her children. _

_When I come to myself, I am in an even darker room. Similar masked figures stand around a figure, all with their wands out. As I move closer, I have to blink several times to register it's myself, as a baby. I realise that this must be where they took me from the room. Looking around, Harry is nowhere to be seen. They must have done something to me because I was out cold. I'm sure in that situation I should have been crying my lungs out. Then, a woman with pale skin and a mess of black curly hair came up to baby-Isobel. She crouched down, laughing maniacally as she stared down at the sleeping child. I wanted to go over and punch her right there, but I couldn't. I watch with bated breath for them to do something. Then the scene changed again. _

_We were in the same room, but a ring had been formed by candles, with my baby form placed in the centre. I anxiously look on, wanting to know what they were going to do to me. Around the candles, several figures stood, all looking straight ahead, grasping their wands. Around me, two figures kneeled. I recognised the black-haired woman, but opposite her was a man, even paler than her. He had long spider-like fingers which grasped a white wand. His face looked snake-like, and his eyes were red. Realisation dawned on me, sending shivers down my spine. This was Lord Voldemort, the man who killed my parents. Suddenly, there was a baby's cry. But looking down at myself, I noticed it was not from me. Without looking up, the woman spoke. _

"_Shut the other one up," she hissed._

_I look around, finally noticing my brother. He was situated outside of the ring, and with a flick of his wand, one of the figures silenced him. I breathe a sigh of relief to know he wasn't in direct danger. Then I return my focus to myself. My clothes had been removed, so my small body lay naked. I noticed that my collarbone was bare. Then it dawned on me. This must be how I got the symbol. Suddenly the figures started chanting in a foreign language. Voldemort and the woman laid their hands on the baby, and I shivered. The smoke from the candles started swirling, making their way towards the centre. As a baby, I shifted, unable to do anything else. Without warning, the smoke then flew towards my left shoulder. A cry escaped both my forms as a sudden burning filled my shoulder. Grasping at my shirt, I pull it down to look at the burning symbol. It was glowing green and black, and the sensation sends pain all down my arm. Tears prick my eyes as I try to hold back a sob. Forcing my eyes back to my dream, I see Voldemort bent low over the baby, murmuring something. Suddenly, the chanting stopped as light filled the room. But it didn't come from the ritual. New people started filling the room, wands blazing. In an instant, Voldemort disappeared while the woman stood up to fight. The smoke stopped burning at my shoulder, but the damage had been done. Then suddenly someone was shaking me, and I woke up._

Gasping, I sat up in my bed. Over me, Professor McGonagall stands, looking down at me worriedly.

"Miss Potter, are you okay?" she asks.

I blink, my hand moving to my shoulder where the symbol is still burning. Looking around, I realise the rest of the girls in my dormitory are awake, and Lavender Brown is standing slightly behind McGonagall. Looking back to the Deputy Headmistress, I shook my head, trying to clear it.

"What happened?" I ask her.

* * *

_McGonagall POV_

Albus and I had just retired to bed after he informed me of what Harry had found in one of the empty classrooms when he startled. I sat up beside him, looking at him curiously.

"What's wrong Albus?" I softly ask.

"Someone's trying to get past the gargoyle," he replied. "I don't know who," he added at my silent inquiry.

Sighing, we get out of bed, summoning our robes so as not to cause any questions as to why I'm in Albus' office. Walking out of the private room, I followed Albus down the stairs, and out the office door. The stone gargoyle springs open for us, and Albus almost runs into one of the young Gryffindors, Lavender Brown. Startled, she almost loses her balance. Albus reaches out to steady her though before she can fall. A second later, an explanation leaves her mouth.

"Professors, it's Isobel. She's screaming in her sleep and we can't wake her. The Hospital wing is closed and we didn't know what else to do."

Worry strikes my heart at the mention of the young girl. Glancing at Albus, I see a similar emotion on his face.

"Minerva," he instructs. "Return to Gryffindor Tower with Miss Brown while I summon Madame Pomfrey. We will meet you there."

I nod in understanding. Without wasting a second, Lavender starts off again and quickly follow her. We don't speak as we enter through the portrait hole. Quickly, we make our way up to the first-years girl's dormitory. As we fly up the stairs, I see some students awake, looking out to see what's going on. My worry increases when I realise they must've been woken by Isobel's screams. Stopping briefly, I reprimand them.

"Go back to sleep students," I bark.

When we reach the dormitory, I see the other girls already awake. Lavender leads me over to Isobel's bed and moves out of my way. The girl is shaking slightly and sweat glistens on her forehead. Her hands twitch occasionally, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I realise she isn't screaming anymore. Carefully, I shake the girl. She doesn't stir, so I shake her a little harder.

"Miss Potter," I call. "Isobel!"

Finally, she wakes up. She quickly sits up, and I move back slightly. I look down at her with worry.

"Miss Potter," I ask, trying to steady my voice. "Are you alright?"

Her hand moves to her shoulder, where she seems to be in pain. I frown. Isobel looks around, taking in her surroundings. When she looks back to me, confusion is evident on her face.

"What happened?" she asks.

I purse my lips, about to tell her, when suddenly, Poppy bursts through the doors. Gently, she pushes me aside to inspect Isobel. Seeing her hand over her shoulder, Poppy immediately goes to look. Isobel pulls away though, pressing her hand even harder against herself.

"What happened?" she repeats, looking past Poppy to me.

I move to the other side of her bed to easily see her.

"Miss Brown said you were screaming in your sleep, and they were unable to wake you," I inform her. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" I gently ask her.

"Nothing," she replies straight away. "It just hurts a little from Quidditch practise the other day. But it's nothing bad."

I study her face, not quite believing her. Choosing not to push it though, I nod slightly.

"Would you like to tell us what happened?" I push.

"I'm not sure," Isobel says. "I just had a bad dream. That's all."

Again, I don't quite believe her. But looking around, I realise all the girl's eyes are on Isobel.

"Would you come down to the Common Room please?" I suggest.

She looks at me gratefully, nodding. With a little help from Poppy, she climbs out of bed. Then taking the lead, she exits the room. I turn back to face the other students.

"Please try to get back to sleep, we will sort everything out," I reassure them.

Without waiting for a reply, I exit the room, quickly catching up to Poppy and Isobel. We make our way to the scarlet common room, where Albus is waiting. Upon seeing us, he lets out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief.

"Miss Potter," he says. "Are you alright?"

Isobel nods, looking a little uncomfortable. Poppy leads her to one of the couches, instructing her to stay still while she performs diagnostic spells. Albus takes my arms and leads me slightly out of hearing range.

"What happened?" he asks quietly.

Looking into his sapphire-blue orbs, I see worry pooling in them. Just as I was, he was concerned for the young girl who had recently become such a large part of our lives.

"She had a bad dream," I reply, just as quietly. "She claims she's alright, but she was grasping her left shoulder in pain."

My husband frowns, his worry increasing. Glancing at Poppy and Isobel, I make sure they're not watching. Then I discretely lay my hand on his arm in a calming gesture.

"I'm sure she's alright Albus, she just had a nightmare."

He calms a little, and unfortunately, I pull my hand away so the other two don't notice. I smile a little at him, before walking back to the pair. Poppy looks a little worried while Isobel looks a mixture of annoyed, embarrassed and confused.

"Is everything alright?" I inquire.

Isobel snaps her head up to look at me. Poppy frowns a little before answering.

"I can't find anything wrong, despite the discomfort in her shoulder," she says, eyeing Isobel's left shoulder.

Isobel shifts a little under her gaze.

"I told you," she said. "I'm alright, the pain in my shoulder is just from Quidditch. I had a bit of a fall."

I highly doubt that considering the skills I saw from her during the Gryffindor/Slytherin match. But she seems insistent, so I decide not to press it.

"Right," Albus says, also coming to a similar conclusion. "As long as you're alright, Isobel, you can head back to sleep Poppy."

The matron nods a little.

"Sorry for disturbing you," Isobel apologises.

Poppy smiles.

"Don't worry," she says warmly. "As long as you're okay?"

Isobel nods. Poppy then leaves through the portrait hole. I make sure it's properly closed before talking.

"Isobel," I say. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

I give her a firm look, so she knows she can't lie.

"It's okay now, really," she sighs. "It was just a bit of phantom pain. It got hurt during my nightmare."

I study her, looking for any signs of dishonesty. Finding none, I sit down beside her on the couch. Albus does the same, taking up the space beside her. I gently take her hand while Albus shifts a little so she can lean on him slightly.

"Do you want to share what your nightmare was about?" I softly ask.

Isobel bites her lip, obviously indecisive.

"It's alright if you don't," Albus adds. "Only if you want to."

Isobel nods. Then suddenly she launches into a description of her nightmare.

"It was something from when I was a baby," she starts. "When…when my parents were still alive."

She trails off sadly. Guiltily, I think back to what Albus told me. Harry had found the Mirror of Erised earlier tonight, and I had almost no doubt he had seen Lily and James. While Isobel had the picture in her locket, I knew it wouldn't be the same as what Harry had seen. Oblivious to my thoughts though, Isobel carries on.

"There was an attack on the house, and Harry and I were taken. Whoever took us performed a sort of ritual. I saw something."

I look down at her, seeing something flicker in her eyes. Then she gets up and finds a sheet of paper and a quill. She settles down back between us but leaning on one of the tables this time. Albus and I shift a little to watch her. Silently, she draws something. Her hand covers the drawing, so I don't see it at first. But when she draws away, I gasp. There, on the sheet of paper, Isobel had drawn the Deathly Hallows. On her other side, Albus takes a deep breath.

"Where did you see this Isobel?" he asks, his voice shaking slightly.

Isobel looks curiously up at him before answering.

"I'm not sure Professor," she replied. "What does it mean?"

"That is not something that should be discussed tonight," Albus answers. "For now, you should try and get back to sleep."

At this, Isobel looks slightly frightened. I softly grasp her hand again.

"Don't worry," I say reassuringly.

Wordlessly, I cast a charm over her that will keep any dreams or nightmares at bay.

"There, you won't have any more nightmares tonight," I smile.

She returns the gesture slightly. I stand, indicating for Isobel to do the same. I quickly give her a hug, before sending her back to her dormitory. Once she's out of sight, I turn back to Albus.

"She shouldn't have seen that symbol," he states.

I nod.

"That wasn't a regular nightmare," I agree grimly.

Silently, we exit Gryffindor Tower and make our way back to our private quarters. As we once again change into our night clothes, Albus gathers me in his arms. I rest my head on his chest, relishing in the warmth and safety the feeling of being in his embrace provides me with. We lay awake, each left to our own thoughts. Eventually, though, Albus falls asleep. But I stay staring at the dark ceiling. During the past few weeks, spending time with Isobel during her lessons, my heart had opened up to the young girl. I now care about her in an almost motherly way. I tried to decide whether that was good or not but couldn't find a conclusion. I sighed, shifting slightly in Albus' arms. Slowly, my thoughts faded away and the pull of sleep dragged me into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Isobel's POV_

Once I reassure the girls that I'm okay, I collapse back onto my bed. I crawl under the covers, confident whatever spell McGonagall cast on me would keep the nightmares away. But I still couldn't get back to sleep. The images from my vision kept seeping back into my mind. I hadn't mentioned to Dumbledore and McGonagall anything about Voldemort, fearing they would worry too much about it. I also didn't mention anything about the symbol I drew being engraved on my shoulder. When Dumbledore saw the symbol, I saw recognition in his eyes. He knows what it is, and what it means, but for some reason, he wouldn't tell me. I felt a little closure in knowing how I had gotten the 'scar' but all it mostly did was just open more unanswered questions. Frustrated, I rolled into a more comfortable position, pulling the bed covers underneath my chin. I fell asleep with hundreds of thoughts scrolling through my mind.


	12. Snape

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The next morning, I fill Harry and Ron in on everything, because there's talk about it from almost all the Gryffindors. Harry also tells Ron and I about the mirror he found.

"I saw Mum and Dad Isobel," he tells me.

I smile, accepting his invitation to come tonight. The day goes by quick enough, and when night came the three of us slip out under the cloak. It takes Harry a while to find the room again, and there's much complaining from Ron. Eventually, though, he manages to locate it, and we slip through the door, taking off the cloak once we are inside. Harry immediately runs to the mirror, beaming at what he sees. Crowding on either side of him, Ron and I look eagerly at the mirror. I don't see anything though.

"Look at them all," Harry says.

"I can only see you," Ron replies.

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am," Harry pushes Ron into the view of the mirror.

Ron stares at the image in the mirror. I still can't see anything though.

"Look at me," Ron exclaims.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?" Harry asks.

"No - I'm alone - but I'm different - I look older - and I'm head boy!" Ron says happily.

"What?" I exclaim.

"I am - I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to - and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup - I'm Quidditch captain, too," Ron says.

Ron tears his eyes away from the mirror to look excitedly at us.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" he asks.

"How can it? All my family our dead - let me have another look-" Harry says.

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time," Ron argues.

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents," Harry retorts.

"Guys!" I interrupt. "Can I have a look? Or are you two just going to hog it all to yourselves?"

Harry looks at me guiltily.

"Oh, of course," he mutters.

"Sorry Isobel," Ron apologises.

I smile a little as he stands aside. I take his place in front of the mirror, waiting excitedly to find what I will see. Suddenly, someone appears next to me in my reflection, along with two blurred taller figures behind us. I squint, trying to make sense of the people.

"What do you see?" Harry asks.

I frown, not quite sure of the answer myself. In my reflection, the taller of the two figures lays their hand on my shoulder and wraps their other arm around the other figure. I realise that the blurred people are a man and a woman, and the man has laid his hand on my shoulder. The woman does the same to the figure next to me, and I faintly make out smiles on their faces. Beside me, Harry calls for my attention again. I jump, looking at my brother, then back to my reflection again.

"I just see us and our parents," I reply, deciding that must be it.

He smiles, nodding his head. Then suddenly, something sounds outside the corridor and we rush to put the cloak back on. I hold my breath as Mrs Norris comes around the door, praying the cloak works on cats. When she leaves, we quickly exit the classroom. As we pass the door though, I swear I feel the presence of someone else in the room. I survey the classroom, my gaze lingering where it feels like it is, but I see nothing. Then Ron and Harry tug me out of the room, and I shake the thought from my head. I'm just paranoid. The next morning, Harry is weirdly quiet. I can tell he's thinking about the mirror. Sensing my thoughts, Ron speaks up.

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight," he warns.

"Why not?" Harry asks sharply.

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it," Ron replies.

I nod, agreeing with him. While it was magical to see something in the mirror, it would do no good going back to see it again.

"- and anyway," Ron continues. "You've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione," Harry rolls his eyes.

"He's serious, Harry," I put in. "Don't go."

He says nothing, and I have a bad feeling about him.

* * *

_Dumbledore POV_

The past two nights, young Harry had visited the Mirror, bringing his friend Ron and Isobel the second night. I was slightly surprised to see Isobel accompany him, but I did nothing. As they exited, Isobel stopped slightly, scanning the room. Her gaze then landed directly on me. I was impressed. Despite my disillusion charm, she was still able to sense my presence. Of course, she didn't know I was there, as she was quickly pulled away.

Tonight, I once again made my way to the empty classroom, hoping I wouldn't encounter Harry again. Resting on one of the old desks, I cast the charm on myself and sat quietly waiting. Not much later, to my slight disappointment, the boy turned up. He rushed right past me and situated himself in front of the mirror to watch his parents. I waited a little bit before wordlessly dropping the charm on myself. I then spoke up.

"So - back again, Harry?" I say.

He startles, turning back to face me with a worried expression on his face.

"I - I didn't see you, sir," he stammers.

I smile, letting him know he is not in trouble.

"Strange," I muse. "How nearsighted being invisible can make you."

I slip off the desk and ease myself down to sit next to Harry on the floor.

"So," I say. "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

I watch him to gauge his reaction.

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir," he replies.

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?" I inquire.

He pauses in thought. I'm sure he doesn't know exactly what it does, but I am curious to see what he thinks.

"It - well - it shows me my family-" Harry states.

"As well as Isobel," I agree. "And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy," I add.

"How did you know - ?" Harry asks, surprised.

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," I say gently, indicating the nights I spent disillusioned while he was in this room. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" I press.

Harry shakes his head, looking a little upset. Taking pity on him, I fall back into my old teaching methods.

"Let me explain," I begin. "The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry looks deep in thought. Then, slowly, he works it out.

"It shows us what we want. . . whatever we want. . ."

I ponder his description.

"Yes and no," I explain quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, and Isobel, who have never known your family, see them standing around you."

I pause slightly in regret that it is my fault they never knew their family. I quickly clear that thought from my mind though, focusing on my present conversation.

"Ronald Weasley," I continue. "Who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

I think back to when I first discovered the mirror, seeing myself with Minerva. I spent hours at a time in front of it, unable, at the time, to bring that to reality, as she was a student at the time.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," I inform the boy. "And I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

I pause slightly.

"Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?" I suggest.

Harry stands up. Then he looks curiously at me.

"Sir - Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?" he asks.

I smile.

"Obviously, you've just done so," I joke slightly. "You may ask me one more thing, however," I continue.

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?" Harry asks.

I sigh a little, expecting the question. Glancing at the mirror, Minerva forms next to my reflection, like normal. However, recently the image has changed slightly. In front of us, stood two smaller, blurred figures. Upon first seeing it, I spent hours trying to figure out who they were. Eventually, though, I had come no further, so I tore myself away from it.

"I?" I repeat. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks," I lie, unable to tell him the truth.

Harry stares at me. I chuckle.

"One can never have enough socks," I say. "Another Christmas has come and gone, and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

My words have a slight truth to them, and Harry smiles lightly. I then urge him back to bed, returning to my own chambers for the night.

* * *

_Isobel's POV_

The next morning, Harry explains to Ron and I about what happened last night with Professor Dumbledore. Realisation dawns on me as I remember feeling someone's presence in the room that night. It wasn't my imagination, it was Dumbledore. I frown a little when Harry says Dumbledore saw himself with a pair of socks, but I don't say anything.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," Ron says once Harry finishes telling us about his latest dreams as well.

Unfortunately, the holidays come to an end all too soon, but luckily Hermione returns. She was horrified when we told her about our 'adventures', and quite upset to learn we hadn't figured anything out about Nicolas Flamel. The term starts back up again and we are thrown back into classes and Quidditch training for Harry and I. My private lessons with Dumbledore also continue, and I make some good progress with my control. Quidditch had gotten quite intense again because Wood is pushing us to win our next match to put us ahead of Slytherin in the House Cup. During one particularly muddy and wet lesson, he gave us some bad news. George and Fred had been mucking around when Oliver got mad at them.

"Will you stop messing around!" Wood yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George really did fall off his broom at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" he splutters through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin. "

The rest of us land next to George to complain as well.

"It's not my fault," says Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us. "

Harry and I exchange a look, thinking of a conversation we had at our last match. If Snape is referring, that can't mean anything good for him. After practice, instead of hanging around to talk with the rest of the team, Harry and I return to Gryffindor Tower straight away. When we enter, we find Ron and Hermione talking. Glumly, we sat next to them, interrupting their game of chess.

"What's the matter with you? You look terrible," Ron asks, catching sight of our expressions.

We explain quietly so no one hears. We tell them about Snape's sudden decision to be the Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," Hermione says at once.

"Say you're ill," Ron pipes in.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggests.

"Really break your leg," Ron continues.

"I can't," Harry cuts in. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

I nod in affirmance, staring at the chess game in front of me. Just then, Neville falls through the Portrait Hole with his legs locked together. Hermione and I immediately jump out to perform the counter curse. He graciously thanks us, sitting down next to us on the maroon couches.

"What happened?" Hermione asks him.

"Malfoy," Neville replies shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" I urge Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shakes his head, looking slightly afraid.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbles.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron cries. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville chokes out, looking miserable.

Harry feels in the pocket of his robes to pull out a Chocolate Frog. He gives it to Neville, who looks like he's about to cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry comforts. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

We laugh, and Neville's lips twitch in a weak smile as he unwraps the frog.

"Thanks, Harry. . . I think I'll go to bed. . . D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?" Neville offers.

Harry takes it, thanking Neville as he walks away. Harry then looks at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he says, "He was the first one I ever-"

Suddenly he gasps. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looks up at us.

"I've found him!" he whispers.

I frown. Found who?

"I've found Flamel!"

I gasp as I register his words.

"I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here - listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

My mind flicks back to when I first read that, and everything falls into place as I finally remember where I'd heard Flamel's name before. Hermione jumps to her feet. She hasn't looked so excited since we'd gotten back the marks for our very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she says, and she sprints up the stairs to our dormitory. We barely have time to exchange mystified looks before she dashes back with an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispers excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" Ron says incredibly.

Hermione and I shush him. I move to stand next to her, watching as she finds the page she's looking for. At last, she finds what she's looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaims.

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" Ron asks grumpily.

We ignore him.

"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione whispers, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

I gasp, realisation hitting me. Unfortunately, the boys are a bit slow.

"The what?" Harry and Ron ask.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read?" I roll my eyes. "Look - read that, there."

I push the book towards them, and Harry and Ron read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"See?" Hermione says when Harry and Ron finish. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

My mind races through hundreds of thoughts.

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" says Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it. "

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," Ron joins in. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

We spend the rest of the night trying to find anything else, and lightly discussing the Stone. I go to bed with thoughts swirling through my head, which seems to be normal recently. Ron and Harry talk about the Stone all day the next day, while Hermione and I listened. When Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team if he had the stone, it reminded Harry and I of the upcoming Quidditch match with Snape refereeing.

"I'm going to play," Harry told us. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them. . . it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," says Hermione.

"Don't worry, I'll look after him," I say grinning.

This causes us to laugh, and the seriousness of the conversation is forgotten. As the match draws nearer though, Harry becomes more and more nervous. He keeps telling us he's fine, but I don't believe him. The rest of the team isn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship is wonderful, we hadn't done it for seven years, but would we be allowed to, with such a biased referee? It almost seemed as though Snape was following us, trying to catch us out for something. Potions becomes torture because the Professor is so mean to us. We couldn't help but wonder if Snape knew we'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone, but how could he? Although he did seem to act like he knew everything. Just before the Quidditch match, I pull Harry aside to make sure he's alright.

"Everything's going to be alright, okay?" I reassure him.

He still looks slightly worried, so I give him a quick hug, ruffling his hair when I pull back. He grins slightly, and his mood improves a bit. When Hermione and Ron wish us good luck, I can tell they're worried. It's not exactly comforting. I try to focus on Wood's pep talk, but my eyes keep turning back to Harry where I can tell he isn't hearing anything Oliver's saying. We pull on our Quidditch robes and pick up our brooms, just about to head on to the pitch. Wood pulls us aside though before we can.

"Don't want to pressure you two," he says. "But if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. And try even harder to keep the Quaffle off the other team if you can," he adds, looking at me. "Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."

We swallow, nodding.

"The whole school's out there!" Fred says, peering out of the door. "Even - blimey - Dumbledore's come to watch!"

My heart leaps.

"Dumbledore?" Harry says, dashing to the door to make sure.

When he pulls back, he looks extremely relieved, as do I. We know that with him watching, there's no way Snape would try to do anything. As we walk onto the pitch, I realise that's probably why Snape looks so angry. Oliver and the Hufflepuff captain do the customary handshake before Madame Hooch starts her countdown. I wait for the whistle to come, and when it does, I push off the ground, hard. Oliver immediately flies for the hoops, while Harry soars up above the game. Meanwhile, Angelina, Katie and I race for the Quaffle. We fly around for about a minute when suddenly Snape awards Hufflepuff a penalty because George hit a bludger at him. Angelina let out a cry of protest, but there is nothing we can do. As the game continues, Snape keeps awarding Hufflepuff penalties for no reason at all. At one point, I have to make a last-minute swerve to avoid one of the other team's chasers, which almost makes me fall off my broom. Luckily though, with an urge from me, the Nimbus Two Thousand rights itself, and I manage to stay on. We try our best to get some points, but it proves particularly hard with the game constantly stopping and starting. The whole time, everyone keeps an eye on Harry, silently willing him to end the game quickly. Then, suddenly, luck comes our way when he dives spectacularly, which draws gasps and cheers from the crowd. Harry streaks to the ground, just a scarlet blur. Then he speeds straight towards Snape, where the professor turns just in time to see Harry shoot past, his arm held in the air. The stands erupt in cheers, and our team lets out a triumphant shout. Almost as soon as the game had started, it had ended, that had to be some sort of record. Overall, the game barely lasted five minutes. We all steer towards the ground, and Harry jumps off his broom still a foot off the ground. He looks confused and thrilled at the same time. We rush over to him, unbelievably happy. Snape lands nearby, looking furious. I smile at the look on his face, when suddenly Dumbledore comes up behind Harry, smiling. I'm standing right next to him, so I hear his quiet words.

"Well done," the Headmaster says, nodding a little at me as well. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror. . . been keeping busy. . . excellent. . ."

Harry's face lights up even more if possible while Snape spits bitterly on the ground. Sometime later, we finally leave the locker room to take our brooms back to the broom shed. We talked happily, still not believing how quickly we had won. I can tell Harry is particularly happy, because now he had something to be proud of. He isn't just a famous name anymore, he's the youngest seeker of the century, and able to live up to that title. Once we reach the shed and put our brooms away, we lean up against the wooden door to look at Hogwarts. We're both practically glowing with happiness, now that Gryffindor is in the lead.

"I'm so happy," Harry says. "Did you see the look on Snape's face? I did it. I showed him up!"

I laugh at his happiness. Then suddenly a hooded figure comes down the front steps of the castle. We look at each other. It clearly didn't want to be seen, because it walks as fast as possible to the forbidden forest. Our victory fades from my mind as I recognise the figure. Snape. He's sneaking into the forest while everyone's at dinner. Why? Harry races back into the shed to get our broomsticks. I'm about to protest when he jumps on his and takes off over the castle. I let out a cry of protest. But I can't let him go alone. So I grip my broom and jump on, taking off after Harry. I quickly catch up with him as he glides silently over the castle. We spot Snape breaking into a run to enter the forest. Harry glances at me before following. The trees of the forest are too thick, so we can't find where he went. We fly in circles, gradually getting lower, brushing the top of the trees until we hear voices. We glide toward them and land noiselessly in a towering beech tree. Harry dismounts his broom, climbing along the branches.

"Harry!" I hiss. "What are you doing?"

He ignores me, trying to see through the leaves. I inch closer, also getting off my broom. I grip it tightly, so I don't drop it. Beneath us in a clearing, Snape stands, but not alone. I make out the other figure, Quirrell. I listen carefully to try and hear what they're saying.

"I d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus. . ." I make out.

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," Snape says, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Harry leans forward and I can tell he can't hear. I have better hearing than him though, so I understand Quirrell's mumbling.

"Y-yes, I know, but –"

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?" Snape interrupts him.

"B-b-but Severus, I-" Quirrell protests.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," says Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you-" Quirrell stumbles back.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," spits Snape.

Nearby, an owl hoots loudly. I grip Harry to keep him steady as he almost falls out of the tree. I don't catch the first bit of Snape's next words though.

" - your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting," Snape says.

"B-but I d-d-don't-" Quirrell cries weakly.

"Very well," Snape cuts in. "We'll have another little chat soon when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

With that, he throws his cloak over his head and strides out of the clearing. In the dark, Quirrell's white face gleams with panic. I grip Harry's arm.

"Come on, let's go," I whisper.

He nods, and we mount our brooms and fly off again. We quickly stow them in the shed before racing back to the castle.

"Harry, Isobel, where have you two been?" Hermione squeaks when she sees us.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouts Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right - talk about showing Slytherin! I've waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," Harry interrupts. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this. . ."

We find a suitable place, and Harry makes sure Peeves isn't inside before shutting the door. We tell Hermione and Ron what we saw.

"So we were right," Ron says. "It is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus' - I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through-"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" says Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron says.

We let that sink in. After a little bit, I speak up.

"Come on, let's get back."

They agree, and we head back to the common room, joining the party for a bit before heading to bed. Luckily, after today, I quickly fall into a dreamless sleep.


	13. Suspicions

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

The four of us keep an eye on Quirrel and Snape over the next few weeks to try and see if we can find out anything more. But so far it doesn't look like Quirrell has said anything. Meanwhile, Hermione is making us study like crazy because exams are getting closer. I don't fight her because I want to do well, but I don't like putting all that effort in, so I decided I will study harder closer to the exams. However, the workload increases as all the teachers are thinking along the same lines, so we have to do more work whether we like it or not. Hermione quizzes us on everything she can in our free time. One day, Harry and I are engaged in a book when we suddenly look up as Ron says something about Hagrid. Sure enough, there he is, all seven or eight feet of him.

"Hagrid!" Ron says, surprised. "What are you doing in the library?"

I can see something behind Hagrid's back. He looks suspicious as he shifts a little.

"Jus' lookin'," the giant man says.

We all know something's up as his voice betrays his words. Then, suddenly, his demeanour changes.

"An' what're you lot up ter?" he demands. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Ron proudly boasts. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St-"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid says quickly, looking around to make sure no one heard. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?" he warns.

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," Harry says.

"About what's guarding the Stone, apart from Fluffy," I add.

"SHHHH!" Hagrid says again. "Listen, come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh – "

"See you later then," Harry says.

Hagrid shuffles off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione asks thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?" I ask.

"I'm going to see what section he was in," Ron says.

He gets up to investigate, looking like he's had enough of working. He comes back a minute later with his arms ladled with books. I lean over to read them as he slams them down on the table.

"Dragons!" I whisper.

"Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons!" Ron says. "Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

My heart sinks as I realise what this most likely means.

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," Harry confirms. "He told us so the first time we ever met him," he says, gesturing to me.

"But it's against our laws," Ron puts in. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden – anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" I frown.

"Of course there are," says Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind has to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" Hermione asks.

We take Hagrid's offer up and go to see him later tonight. We find out that Dumbledore borrowed Fluffy from Hagrid, and Professors Sprout, Flitwick, Quirrell, Snape and Dumbledore himself put enchantments in to protect the Stone. We question Hagrid about Snape, but he tells us off for suspecting him. Then we notice the dragon egg Hagrid's heating on the fire. He tells us it's a Norwegian Ridgeback.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," Hermione warns him.

He pays no mind though, so we leave his hut sighing.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighs one evening as we struggle through all the extra homework we're getting.

The next day we get a note from Hagrid telling us the egg's hatching. Ron suggests skipping Herbology to go straight down to the hut. Hermione won't hear of it though.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?" Ron argues.

"We've got lessons," Hermione huffs. "We'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing-"

"Shut up!" Harry whispers.

I look around and see Malfoy standing only a few feet away, stopped to listen. I glare at him. How much had he heard? On the way to Herbology Ron and Hermione argue. In the end, Hermione agrees to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during morning break. I say no, finally needing to do some study. When the bell sounds from the castle at the end of our lesson, the other three drop their trowels at once and hurry through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Sighing, I head to the library to get started on my work. When I meet up with the other three later, they frantically tell me Malfoy saw the dragon. I frown, knowing it's only a matter of time before he says something. Over the next week, we spend most of our free time in Hagrid's hut, trying to talk sense into him.

"Just let him go," Harry urges. "Set him free."

"I can't," says Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

I look at the dragon. It's gotten impressively big for just a week old. Smoke curls out of its nostrils and I can't help but fall a little in love with it. I understand Hagrid's reluctance to set him free, but I know he can't. Hagrid's been rejecting his game-keeping duties because he's always looking after the beautiful creature.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," Hagrid says, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

"He's lost his marbles," I overhear Ron mutter in Harry's ear.

"Hagrid," says Harry loudly. "Give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bites his lip.

"I - I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Harry suddenly turns to Ron. "Charlie," he said.

"You're losing it, too," Ron says. "I'm Ron, remember?"

I roll my eyes slightly, looking at Harry.

"No - Charlie - your brother, Charlie," my brother says. "In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaims. "How about it, Hagrid?"

In the end, Hagrid agrees that we can send an owl to Charlie to ask him. Harry, Hermione and I find ourselves sitting alone in front of the fire the following Wednesday after everyone else has gone to bed. The portrait hole suddenly burst open as the clock on the wall chimes midnight. Ron appears out of nowhere as he pulls off Harry's invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he cries, showing us his hand, which is wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

I frown slightly at Ron insulting the dragon, but I ignore it. Then suddenly, there's a tap on the window.

"It's Hedwig!" says Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!"

As he collects it, Amber suddenly jumps up onto my lap. When we first got to Hogwarts, the cat had left almost immediately to explore the grounds, and I had barely seen her. But she had started appearing the past few nights. I stroke her soft fur, murmuring little nothings to her. Then Harry comes back and sits next to me and we read the note.

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter - I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

We look at each other.

"We've got the invisibility cloak," Harry says. "It shouldn't be too difficult - I think the cloaks big enough to cover us and Norbert."

It's a mark of how bad the last week had been that we agree with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert and Malfoy.

There's a hitch though. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand has swollen to twice its usual size. He doesn't know whether he should visit Madam Pomfrey. Would she recognise a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he has no choice. The cut has turned a nasty shade of green. It looks as though Norbert's fangs are poisonous. We rush up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," he whispers, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what bit me - I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me - I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

We try to calm him down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," says Hermione, but this doesn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sits bolt upright and breaks into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he says in a hoarse voice. "Oh no, oh no - I've just remembered - Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

We don't get a chance to answer. Madame Pomfrey comes over and makes us leave, saying Ron needs sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Harry tells us. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

We find Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail when we go to tell Hagrid, who opens a window to talk to us.

"I won't let you in," he puffs. "Norbert's at a tricky stage - nothin' I can't handle."

When we tell him about Charlie's letter, his eyes fill with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot - jus' playin' - he's only a baby, after all."

The baby bangs its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. We walk back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough, although I do feel sorry for Hagrid. Halfway through the week though, I receive a letter from Dumbledore, telling me I have a lesson on Saturday night at ten. Dumbledore has some business to attend to beforehand, which is why it's later.

"I don't think I should come," I tell the others sadly. "I don't think we can all fit under the cloak, and I don't want to be there when Norbert leaves," I lie.

Harry frowns but reluctantly agrees. When Saturday comes around, I make up an excuse to go to my lesson. I head to Dumbledore's office, waiting as the gargoyle moves aside to let me through. Dumbledore greets me, and I notice McGonagall's missing.

"Is Professor McGonagall not attending tonight?" I ask him.

He smiles a little.

"She's just a little late, another matter to attend to. She will be by later."

I nod as Dumbledore stands up to begin the lesson. The lesson goes by slowly as I get more and more tired. About ten minutes in, McGonagall joins us, taking her usual position next to the Headmaster. Overall, the session is effective but uneventful. It's nearly midnight by the time we finish. I exit Dumbledore's office as the professors dismiss me for the night. So that I don't come across Harry or Hermione, I walk slow. As I reach the corridor just before the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, I spot Malfoy. I falter in my steps. What is he doing here? When he spots me, he smirks and starts towards me. Just then, McGonagall rounds the corridor, catching sight of both of us. Her expression turns stern as she quickly makes her way towards us.

"Miss Potter, continue on your way thank you," she says, nodding at me.

Malfoy starts to protest as I head to the portrait hole. McGonagall holds up her hand though, effectively cutting him off.

"She had business with me, therefore she is excused. You, however, Mr Malfoy, have no excuse."

I reach the portrait of the Grey Lady and have no choice but to enter. So that Malfoy doesn't hear, I mutter the password and step inside just as McGonagall takes him by the ear and drags him off. I smirk, knowing he's in for it now. My amusement doesn't last long though as I remember the other two. I plonk myself down on one of the armchairs in front of the fire, impatiently waiting for Harry and Hermione to return. As time drags on, I get increasingly more worried. An hour passes. Surely it shouldn't have taken them this long? Finally, twenty minutes later, they return. I jump up from the armchair, rushing over to them. I stop short though when I notice Neville, and furthermore, the expressions on all of their faces.

"What happened?" I ask, now fearful.

Neville shakes his head and shoves past Hermione, going up to his dormitory. I look quizzically at her. She sighs before answering.

"Filch caught us coming down from the tower. Oh, we were so stupid, we forgot the invisibility cloak coming back down. He took us to Professor McGonagall's office. She had also caught Neville out because he was trying to warn us. He said Malfoy was going to catch us. She gave us all detentions and took 150 points off Gryffindor," Hermione finishes miserably.

I gasp.

"150 points?!" I whisper, unbelieving.

They nod resignedly. My heart sinks. We'd lose the lead we gained in the House gap, putting us surely in last place.

"Anyway," Harry says. "We should head to bed."

We nod mutely. We silently climb the stairs to our separate dormitories. Hermione doesn't speak as she gets ready for bed, so I don't push her to answer anything. It takes me a bit to get to sleep, but eventually, my eyes shut for the last time that night. The next morning, as we enter the breakfast hall, everyone is talking about the change in the House hour-glasses. They all think there's been a mistake, because how could Gryffindor lose so many points overnight? Then everyone starts treating Harry horribly as the story spreads. Everyone except the Slytherins that is. They're beyond happy and thank Harry every time he passes them. The four of us have to stick together because nobody else wants to talk to us, not that I mind too much. Harry feels terrible about what happened and wants to quit the Quidditch team although luckily I convince him not to. No one speaks to him unless they have to. Hermione stops drawing attention to herself in class and Neville loses the small number of people that didn't mind him. I talk to him during classes because I feel sorry for him. Anyone that even looks at him wrong gets sent my newly famous 'Potter Glare.' According to Ron, it's terrifying and rivals even his mother's. He says it almost tops McGonagall's.

"I'd hate to be on the other side of that look," he joked one day.

Luckily though, the upcoming exams provide a good distraction from all the hostility. We work long and hard hours to cram everything into our brains, desperately trying to remember it all. Due to this, my private lessons had been cut down to once a week. The first one I had after the incident, McGonagall questioned me on my knowledge of the event. I denied it, saying I had no part in it. She didn't press it, and thankfully, she dropped the subject. One day Harry and I hear someone whimpering in a classroom up ahead as we're leaving the library. I recognise it as Quirrell's voice when we get closer. Harry looks at me. I shrug. We move closer, trying to hear better.

"No – no – not again, please –" he cries.

I frown at his words. Is someone threatening him?

"All right – all right –" Quirrell sobs.

Suddenly, the professor rushes out of the classroom, straightening his turban as he does so. I stifle a yelp as he rushes right past us looking pale and on the verge of tears. Luckily, he doesn't notice us in his hurry. I go to leave, but Harry pulls me back. He waits until Quirrell is out of sight before sticking his head into the classroom.

"Harry!" I warn.

"It's alright, it's empty," he says.

"Lucky for us," I mutter.

He steps into the room and sighing, I follow him. On the other side of the room, a door stands ajar. Harry starts walking for it before stopping.

"I promised myself I would stop meddling," he tells me.

I smile at him, proud at his change in behaviour. We exit the classroom, but Harry can't resist telling the other two. We head back to the library where Hermione's testing Ron on Astronomy. Interrupting them, Harry tells us what we witnessed. He tells us he bets Snape exited the other door seconds before we came in.

"Snape's done it then!" Ron says. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell – "

"There's still fluffy, though," Hermione points out.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," says Ron.

He looks around at all the books surrounding us.

"I bet there's a book somewhere in here, telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?" Ron asks.

I frown, feeling like something's wrong. All the evidence we have points to Snape, but something tells me it isn't him. But who else could it be? I ponder everything we've heard. Hermione said she had seen Snape muttering and staring at Harry's when his broom went out of control. And before that, at Halloween, Harry and Ron had gone to the third floor during the troll attack. Then not long after Harry saw Snape's leg injured by Fluffy. We had also seen Snape threatening Quirrell in the forest. So why am I convinced it's not him? Just then, Hermione nudged me.

"What?" I jump.

"I asked what you think we should do?" Hermione asks me.

I don't know what she's talking about because I had missed the last part of their conversation.

"Um – " I start.

Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Should we try to find more evidence to bring it to Dumbledore?" she asks.

I roll it over in my head. If we did more poking around, we could get in even more trouble, but it could also confirm if Snape's guilty or not. But I'm not sure, so I voice that.

"I'm not sure," I tell them. "What if it's not Snape?"

Ron starts at this.

"How could it not be? He jinxed Harry's broom and tried to get past Fluffy. You agreed with us when we spoke out this not two days ago," he protests.

I sigh.

"I know, I know. I feel like we're missing something though. I've got a strong feeling we've got it wrong, and Snape is innocent."

All three of them stare blankly at me. Then Harry clears his throat.

"Regardless, we're not poking around anymore."

With that, he grabs one of the books on the table and starts studying it. Hermione and I exchange a wary glance before doing the same. That night, I'm kept awake trying to figure out who else could be trying to steal the Stone.


	14. The Plan

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

The next morning at breakfast, Neville, Hermione and Harry receive notes from Professor McGonagall, telling them their detention will take place tonight. Neville looks positively distraught, but Hermione and Harry don't say anything. I struggle through the day a little, due to the lack of sleep I got last night. I keep myself busy with school work until 11 o'clock, then bid the others goodnight when they head down to complete their detention. I fall asleep almost immediately, revelling in the comfiness and warmth of my sheets. Unfortunately, Hermione decides to wake me when she returns, saying something about Harry and the Forbidden Forest. I blink the sleep out of my eyes then let her lead me down to the Common Room where Harry's waking Ron up. When he sees us, he immediately launches into the story of their detention. He tells us it was in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid and they were searching for a unicorn. I gape in shock when he tells us about seeing Voldemort.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort…and Voldemort's waiting in the forest…and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…" Harry says.

"Stop saying the name!" Ron snaps, looking terrified.

Harry didn't listen.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done…" he continues. "Bane was furious…he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen…They must show that Voldemort's coming back…Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me…I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"_Will you stop saying the name!" _Ron hisses.

Again, Harry ignores him.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," he says. "Then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off…Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

His words are beyond reassuring. I can't believe Harry's even suggesting this. Next to me, Hermione looks terrified. But she takes a deep breath before saying something.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of," she says. "With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

I desperately want to believe her, but I know Harry's still in danger if the threat of Voldemort is around. We discuss the topic a little further before heading to bed.

* * *

By now, exams are closer than ever. The four of us are on high alert because of the threat of Voldemort, but we still study any chance we can get. The days become hot and uncomfortable, and everyone is irritable and tired. I have one more lesson with Dumbledore where we spend some more time on maintaining control. Then, before we know it, the exams are upon us. We're given quills to prevent us from cheating on the written papers, and we are tested on our practical work as well. In the Charms exam, Professor Flitwick calls us into his class to make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. When he calls me in, I perform the charm with relative ease, gaining a smile from the small wizard. I then flick my and the pineapple turns upside down and begins performing cartwheels. Flitwick chuckles, watching it in amusement for a bit before performing the counter-curse. McGonagall grades us all together, making us turn a mouse into a snuff-box. Before we start, she tells us we get more points for the prettiness of the box, but we lose points if there are whiskers on it. As everyone starts trying to transfigure their mouses, I try to think of a design for the box. My mind flicks back to the dream had a while ago when I saw a woman's hand with a ring on it. I remember there was a Gaelic pattern on it. Focusing on that, I point my wand at the mouse and transfigure it just as McGonagall reaches me. Instead of looking pleased like I expected, a look of shock crosses her face. She covers it quickly, picking the box up to study it. The box itself is gold and circular, with the Gaelic design covering it. Scattered all over and settled in the design are tiny diamonds. In the centre, a glittering emerald sits, as I saw in the dream. McGonagall purses her lips before setting it back on my desk with a small nod then walks away. I frown, reaching for the box. There are no traces of whiskers or fur. Maybe she didn't like the design? I sigh, putting it back down, watching the others for the rest of the time. Our potions exam is much more difficult. We have to try to remember how to make a forgetfulness potion while Snape breathes down our necks. I'm not great at Potions in the first place, so with the extra pressure, I get a little stressed. In the end, Snape doesn't glare at me as much as usual, so I don't worry too much. I do well in the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, but I'm not sure I did very well in the Herbology one. We also have the Astronomy exam; I don't know how well I do in it. Our last exam is History of Magic, where we have to recall old wizards who invented self-stirring potions. When we're finished, Hermione and I go over our exam papers. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron stretch out on the grass outside.

"No more revision," Ron says happily.

I roll my eyes.

"You could look more cheerful Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet," he continues.

I laugh in wonder of his easiness. When I look at Harry though, my smile falls. He's rubbing his forehead like he's been doing a lot recently. He has a small look of pain on his face.

"I wish I knew what this means," he suddenly bursts out. "My scar keeps hurting – it's happened before, but never as often as this."

I look at him worriedly.

"Go to Madame Pomfrey," Hermione suggests.

"I'm not ill," Harry protests. "I think it's a warning…it means danger's coming…"

He trails off, locking eyes with me. I know he wouldn't bring it up unless he thinks something's wrong. He's too proud to admit it. Ron doesn't share my worry though.

"Harry, relax," he says. "Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around."

"Well, something must be wrong if you're agreeing with Hermione," I mutter.

He ignores me.

"Anyway, we've had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

I frown a little, not all that reassured. I still have the feeling that it's not Snape, but whenever I bring it up, the others just brush it off. Looking at Harry, I can see he isn't completely reassured either.

"I feel like I have to do something," he says. "Something important…" he trails off.

'That's just the exams," Hermione pipes in. "I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."

A small smile tugs at Harry's lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He looks across the grounds for a bit, before suddenly jumping to his feet.

"Where're you going?" Ron asks, sounding sleepy.

"I've just thought of something," Harry says, looking white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

He starts off, and the three of us rush to catch up with him.

"Why?" I demand.

"Don't you think," he says as we scramble up the grassy slopes. "It's a bit odd that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket?"

I gasp as the wheels start turning in my mind, what he's saying finally clicking into place.

"How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law?" Harry continues. "Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?" he groans.

"What are you on about?" Ron asks, still not getting it.

Harry starts sprinting though, so we can't answer. When we reach Hagrid's hut, we see him sitting on an armchair outside, shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he says, smiling at us. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes please," Ron says.

"No," Harry cuts across him. "We're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Please," I add, glaring a little at Harry's rudeness.

"Dunno," Hagrid says casually. "He wouldn't take his cloak off."

My eyes widen in shock. He never saw the stranger? Looking at us, Hagrid raises his eyebrows.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head – that's one of the pubs down in the village," he says. "Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Harry sits down next to the bowl of peas, looking stressed. I crouch down next to him, laying a calming hand on his arm. He looks gratefully at me.

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid?" I ask, looking up at the giant man. "Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

I know what Harry's getting at, but I don't want to make it too obvious.

"Mighta come up," Hagrid says, frowning. "Yeah…he asked what I did, an I told him I was gamekeeper here…He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after…so I told him…an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon…an' then…I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks…Let's see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play card fer it if I wanted…but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go home to any old home…So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

Harry perks up when Hagrid mentions Fluffy. I inwardly groan.

"And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asks.

I can tell he was trying to keep his voice even.

"Well – yeah," Hagrid says. "How many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts?"

I curse under my breath.

"So I told him, Fluffy's a piece of cake if yeh know how to calm him down," Hagrid continues. "Jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep –"

Hagrid suddenly cuts off, looking terrified. The four of exchange a look.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" Hagrid groans. "Forget I said it!"

It's too late. We're already off.

"Hey – where're yeh goin'?" Hagrid calls after us.

We ignore him, hurrying back to the castle.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," Harry says when we reach the Entrance Hall. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

I am just about to lead them away when I remember Dumbledore telling me in our last lesson he's going away for a little while. I'm just about to mention this when McGonagall's voice rings out.

"What are you three doing inside?"

We turn to face her, and I see she is carrying a large pile of books. Before I can say anything, Hermione speaks up.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," she says.

McGonagall gazes at us, looking at me a bit. She's probably wondering if I told them he's away.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" she repeats, looking suspicious. "Why?"

Again, before I can speak, Harry pipes up.

"It's sort of a secret," he says.

I bite my lip, resisting the urge to bury my head in my hands. McGonagall's nostrils flare, and she looks directly at Harry.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she says coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

I wonder why she doesn't tell the truth, but I don't say anything.

"He's gone?" Harry says, looking frantic. "Now?"

"Harry!" I reprimand.

'Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter," McGonagall says sternly. "He has many demands on his time –"

"But this is important," Harry cuts in.

I'm now tempted to clamp my hand over his mouth to make him shut up.

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?" McGonagall counters.

I glance at Harry, silently begging him to drop it. But I see the decision in his eyes as he opens his mouth, and I hold my breath, knowing this could go south quickly.

"Look," he starts. "Professor – it's about the Sorcerer's Stone –"

Shock is evident on McGonagall's face. The pile of books she's carrying drops, and she makes no move to pick them up.

"How do you know -?" she asks, looking flabbergasted.

"Professor, I think – I know," Harry explains, "that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

McGonagall looks my way for a second, looking a mixture of shocked and suspicious. I look back at her with sorriness but certainty. Then she looks back to Harry.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she decides. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor," Harry protests.

"Potter," McGonagall interrupts. "I know what I'm talking about."

She quickly gathers her books back up again before facing us again.

"I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

Her tone leaves no room for further protest, so we nod with resigned agreeance. As we turn to go though, she speaks again.

"Miss Potter," she calls.

I turn back around to face her.

"I would like to speak to you later about a certain matter. My office, ten past eight."

With that, she leaves. The other's look at me curiously, but I shrug my shoulders, feigning confusion. But I'm wondering what she wants to talk to me about as well. Something from my exam? My lessons? Or an entirely different matter? Harry waits until McGonagall is definitely out of earshot before talking.

"It's tonight," he says. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But –" I start.

Hermione gasps, and we turn to see what she's looking at. Or rather, who.

"Good afternoon," Snape says.

We stare at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he says with a twisted smile.

"We were just going," I say.

"You want to be more careful," Snape continues. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can they?"

Harry flushes a little, and we turn to go back outside. But Snape calls us back.

"Be warned, Potter," he says, talking to Harry. "Anymore night-time wandering and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

He then strides off in the direction of the staff room. Harry turns back to us.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispers.

"Hang on," I interrupt. "What if it's not Snape? What if it's someone else?" I ask.

"Well, either way, someone's going to try to steal the Stone," Harry points out.

I want to argue further, but I know it won't get me anywhere for now.

"One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape – wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that," Harry suggests.

"Why me?" she asks.

"It's obvious," Ron says. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know."

He puts on a high voice.

"'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong –"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione interrupts.

But she agrees to watch out for Snape.

"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry says.

"No," I say. "If one of the teachers catches us there, they'll know we're up to something. We best just wait until after dinner."

Harry thinks it over, then agrees that's the best plan. We head back to the common room, sitting separately. I take the chance to talk to Harry.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I start.

"Isobel –" he protests.

I hold my hand up to cut him off.

"Harry, I'm serious," I say, looking him in the eye. "What you're planning, it's dangerous. You could get seriously injured. Hagrid said the teachers have put protective enchantments on it to keep adults from stealing it. How do you think a bunch of eleven year old's, who barely know any spells, are going to get past them? Harry, have you even thought about this at all?"

Harry stares at me for a second, and I see him struggling to keep his words back.

"Spit it out!" I say, starting to get angry with him.

"SO WHAT?" he shouts.

A few people look our way but one look from me and they suddenly become interested in their couches and tables.

"Don't you understand?" Harry continues quieter this time. "If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts left to get expelled from. He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter any more, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave our families alone if Gryffindor wins the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find us there. It's only dying a bit later than I would have done because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you three say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed our parents, remember?"

I take a few deep breaths before responding, knowing it'll do no one any good if I blow him up.

"Harry," I say. "I never said Voldemort would stop. I know you would never go to the Dark Side. And if you think for a second that I've forgotten he killed our parents, you've got another thing coming. All I said is that you could get hurt. I never said nothing had to happen. Take it to McGonagall again, wait for Dumbledore. Let them deal with it. Don't get involved in this."

Harry glares at me. I glare back at him.

"I'll use the Invisibility Cloak," he says.

He gets up to leave the Common Room, despite my protests.

"Harry! Harry, come on," I call after him.

I follow him through the portrait hole. He runs off through the corridors and hallways, probably getting himself lost. At one point, he turns a corner and disappears before I can catch up with him. I remember the golden trail though and use it to find him. I follow it to an empty classroom, where he sits on top of one of the desks. I cautiously approach him.

"Leave me alone Isobel," he says angrily.

"I'm sorry Harry," I apologise. "I didn't mean to get mad at you. I just don't want you getting hurt."

A tear falls down my cheek as I look at him. I lay my hand on his knee.

"You're my brother," I tell him. "And if something happened to you, I couldn't live with myself."

He looks down at me, a small smile on his face. He reaches down and wipes my tear away.

"I know," he says softly. "I won't let anything happen to me."

I close my eyes, shaking my head.

"But you're still going."

It's not a question but a statement. I know nothing I say will convince him to not go. I can just try my hardest to keep him safe. When I open my eyes, I see an apology in his.

"I'm sorry," is all he says.

We stay like for a minute or two before I make my decision.

"We'll wait until after I've spoken with McGonagall. When I come back, the four of us can go," I say.

He looks shocked.

"The four of us?" he asks. "No, you're not coming."

I move away from him.

"Harry, you can't stop us from coming. Hermione and Ron are our best friends, and I'm your damn sister. We're coming with you."

I see the protest forming in his throat. Then he meets my eyes and sees I'm not changing my mind.

"Ok," he agrees. "Ok."

"Good," I say. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He nods, hopping down from the desk. Just as I reach for the door, he pulls my arm back. I look at him questioningly.

"You won't tell McGonagall, will you? Tonight I mean."

I stare into his bright green eyes and see them searching my own. Without looking away, I answer him.

"Of course not," I assure him.

He smiles back, then releases my arm. I open the door and exit the classroom into an unfamiliar corridor. I look around, trying to figure out where we are.

"Uhh," Harry says. "Do you know how to get back?"

"I think so," I say.

I search for the golden trail and finding it, I lead us back to Gryffindor Tower. When we enter the Common Room, Hermione and Ron are waiting for us.

"If you think we're letting you go alone –" Ron starts.

"I know," Harry interrupts. "But if we get caught, you three will be expelled too," he warns.

"Not if I can help it," Hermione states. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that," she says.

We laugh a little, before sitting quietly down in front of the fireplace. All of us are too wrapped up in our thoughts to say anything. When dinner rolls around, we eat quickly, nervously waiting for the time to come. When dinner ends, I bid a goodbye to the three of them, heading for McGonagall's office. I walk slowly so she has time to get there before me. When I arrive, I knock on the door, and she calls for me to enter. I push the door open, shutting it behind me before walking inside. McGonagall is sitting at her desk, so I walk up, standing in front of me.

"Miss Potter," she greets. "Sit."

I do, pulling the chair in to look at her properly. She doesn't speak, she just stares at me. I try not to shift underneath her gaze. Finally, she talks.

"There are a few matters I would like to discuss this evening," McGonagall begins.

I feel like slouching in my chair, knowing the longer we talk, the less time we have to get the Stone. McGonagall eyes me though, watching to see if I reveal anything. I know even the slightest lapse of behaviour will clue her in, so I focus on keeping my breathing even and my eyes on her.

"What might they be?" I ask politely.

This conversation feels different from normal. In classes, it's always strictly professional mannerisms, and in our private lessons, it is almost polar opposite. Right now though, we are two predators, psyching each other out, waiting for one to show weakness.

"First," McGonagall begins. "I would like to talk about your exam."

I wasn't expecting this, so I falter slightly. I quickly regain my composure though, and McGonagall doesn't acknowledge it.

"What about it Professor?" I ask.

"The design you gave your snuff-box," she explains. "It was quite…particular."

I sense hesitation in her words, and I frown.

"Have you seen that design before Miss Potter?" McGonagall asks.

The whole time, her eyes never leave me. I know it will be impossible to lie to her.

"Yes, I have," I say. "In a dream."

Whatever McGonagall was expecting, it wasn't that.

"A dream?" she repeats.

I nod.

"It was on a ring. The ring was on a woman's figure. I didn't see her face though."

I don't give any more details, like that I saw it as a baby on my mother's finger. There's no reason for her to need to know that.

"I see," McGonagall replies. "It was quite a different design to what I normally see, is all."

I nod, waiting for her to say something else.

"Now," she says, her whole demeanour changing. "On to the matter of the Sorcerer's Stone."

I keep my expression neutral, having expected this. I wait patiently for her to elaborate.

"How did you four find out about it?" she asks.

I decide there is no harm in telling her, so I tell her.

"We came across Fluffy one night, and Hermione and I noticed it was standing on a trapdoor. We did some reading, and we spoke to Hagrid, and we figured it out."

McGonagall looks a little annoyed when I mention Hagrid.

"What gives you the impression someone is trying to steal it? And, by Merlin, who do you think is?"

I choose my words carefully.

"We've seen and heard certain teachers talk about the matter, threats and warnings among them. We think one of them is trying to steal it."

"Which one?" McGonagall asks.

I don't answer straight away. I know that if I tell her, she will most likely call me preposterous for accusing him, and won't believe me. But if I don't tell her, she'll get mad and keep asking me. Just as I am about to answer something, there is a knock on the door. The door opens, and Dumbledore strides in.

"Minerva, dear, are you –" he says.

He stops when he sees me.

"Miss Potter," he greets.

I nod at him.

"Professor."

Dumbledore draws up a chair to sit next to McGonagall. She leans back, accumulating a more casual position.

"Miss Potter," she says, a little nicer than before. "Who do you think is trying to steal the Stone."

I glance at Dumbledore. Upon hearing her words, he freezes, looking shocked.

"Pardon?" he asks, looking between us.

When neither of us answer, he asks again. Finally, McGonagall looks away from me to look at the Headmaster.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and Miss Potter have reason to believe someone is trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."

Dumbledore turns his gaze on me.

"Do tell," he says.

I swallow before answering.

"Harry thinks Professor Snape, Sir."

McGonagall gasps but Dumbledore doesn't react straight away. I expect him to frown or punish me for saying that. But he smiles.

"But you don't," he says.

I blink.

"How -?" I ask.

Dumbledore ignores my question.

"Who do you think it is Isobel?" he asks.

For some reason, him calling me Isobel makes it much harder to resist.

"I don't –" I say. "I'm not sure Sir."

Suddenly, Madame Pomfrey bursts into the room.

"Minerva," she says, sounding breathless. "I've just found Neville Longbottom petrified in the Gryffindor Common Room."

* * *

**Hey guys. Thank you so much for reading this far, and please leave a review **


	15. Complications

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

* * *

"_Minerva," she says, sounding breathless. "I've just found Neville Longbottom petrified in the Gryffindor Common Room."_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

My stomach sinks. McGonagall gasps while Dumbledore rises from his chair.

"By whom Poppy?" he asks the healer.

"I don't know Albus," she replies. "One of the students came to get me when they found him."

"Go tend to him," Dumbledore instructs. "We will sort this out," he says, gesturing to McGonagall.

Pomfrey nods then exits the room. Dumbledore turns back to us.

"Could we perhaps continue this another time?" he asks.

McGonagall nods then heads for the door.

"Wait, Professor," I call out.

She turns to look at me. I take a breath.

"I think I know who did it," I say.

McGonagall and Dumbledore stare at me in shock.

"Who?" Dumbledore asks.

"My brother," I say. "And Ron and Hermione."

McGonagall draws in a breath.

"Please don't tell me…" she trails off, not wanting to believe it.

"I'm sorry Professor. I tried to talk him out of it. But he wouldn't listen."

I don't mention that I was going to go with him. Dumbledore looks confused.

"What are you talking about Isobel?" he asks.

I look at him.

"They're going after the Stone. To try and stop whoever is trying to steal it."

He looks momentarily shocked. Then he recovers and takes the lead.

"Right, well, we better go make sure they don't get themselves hurt."

With that, he strides past McGonagall and opens the door, ushering us out. We rush off towards the third floor. I pull slightly ahead of them, using the golden trail to try and find a shortcut. Behind me, I hear the two professors talking quietly.

"Albus," McGonagall says. "Shouldn't we send Isobel back to her Common Room. Or at least keep her in my office."

"I don't think that will keep her away Minerva," Dumbledore replies.

I agree with him. If any of them are hurt, I'm going to be there. Suddenly, up ahead, I the path light up in a shortcut.

"Follow me," I tell them. "There's a shortcut this way."

McGonagall hesitates a little, but Dumbledore tugs on her arm.

"She's right," he says quietly.

I vaguely wonder how he knows, but the thought quickly leaves my mind. I follow the new path, solely relying on the trail. Finally, we find ourselves in front of the door. I reach for the door when suddenly Hermione and Ron burst through it. When they see us, they stop. They look relatively unscathed, but Ron is a little unsteady on his feet, leaning on Hermione for support.

"Professors, Harry's in trouble. You have to help him."

Dumbledore holds up his hand and she cuts off.

"Professor McGonagall and Miss Potter will go with you to the hospital wing while I retrieve young Harry. Do not worry Miss Granger."

I'm about to protest, but he cuts me off with a look. Hermione nods, pulling out of the way. Dumbledore walks inside and the door shuts behind him. McGonagall turns to face us.

"Let's get you three out of here," she says.

* * *

_Dumbledore POV_

I walk inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The three-headed dog inside recognises me and doesn't stop me from passing through. I climb through the trapdoor, using a cushioning charm to soften my fall, and quickly get through the devils snare. I make my way down the stone passageway and summon the battered key when I reach the third level of protection. I swiftly unlock the door, stepping into Minerva's enchantment. I expect to see Harry lying somewhere, unable to get through this. But I'm astonished to see broken chess pieces lying all around the board. Somehow, they had managed to get through. Much like Fluffy, when the transfigured chess pieces see me, they move aside, allowing me to pass. I push through the next door and gag from the smell. The troll lays unconscious on the ground and I get rid of the smell and banish the troll out of the room. As I reach Severus' test, I notice one of the potions completely emptied, and the other has been drunk from. That means Harry has found the Mirror, and if they were correct, whoever's trying to steal the Stone. I look at the black flames that will let me move forward. Through there, evil awaits, and Harry is in trouble. For a second, I fear that I'm too late. I push that thought aside though and steel myself. I create a gap in the fire, moving on to the last chamber. The sight I see inside is not welcoming. Quirinus Quirrell stands over Harry, raising his hand. I am about to intervene when Harry reaches up and grabs the mans face. Quirinus yells in pain and rolls off of Harry, his face blistering. I stare in amazement at Harry, my theories being proved right in front of me. Then Harry jumps to his feet, and catches Quirinus' arm, holding tight. The man screams, trying in vain to throw Harry off. The boy holds on though, even when Quirinus yells threats at him. Then my blood runs cold as a new, but terrifyingly familiar voice speaks. I search for the origin of the speaker, finally noticing Quirinus' turban has fallen away, and on the back of his head, is the face of Voldemort. I freeze.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" he yells.

His words shake me out of my daze and I rush forward to take Quirinus away. I wrench him out of Harry's grasp just as the boy starts to fall.

"Harry! Harry!" I cry, catching him just before he hits the ground.

I barely notice Quirrell still yelling in pain as he slowly burns away. I focus on Harry, lying unconscious. My heart pounds as I check him for any immediate signs of danger, praying he's alright. But luckily, there doesn't seem to be any. However, I know there could be other non-visible injuries. Making a quick decision, I remove the Anti-Apparation jinxes laid upon the chambers and the hospital wing, then I scoop Harry up in my arms and apparate us out of here.

* * *

_Isobel POV_

McGonagall leads us to the Hospital. I help Hermione support Ron, wrapping my arm around his waist and putting his arm around my shoulders. No one speaks until we get there. Madame Pomfrey immediately comes up to us, then instructs Hermione and me to place him in one of the beds. With a little difficulty, we set him down. The matron asks us questions, most of which Hermione answers. She casts a few spells then gives him a potion to drink. Soon afterwards, he falls asleep. Looking around, I notice Neville in one of the other beds. A pang of guilt goes through me even though I know it wasn't my fault. Hermione sits in a chair next to Ron, watching him carefully. I sit on the other side of him, but my thoughts wander. Fear strikes me as I think of Harry. I pray that Dumbledore reaches him quickly. Nearby, McGonagall paces up and down the aisle in between the beds. Worry lines etch her face and I realise she's worried about Harry as well. I find myself standing up and walking over to her. When she sees me, she stops in her way. She tries to school her face into a neutral expression, but I can still see the concern in her eyes.

"Isobel – " she starts.

"He'll be okay," I interrupt.

I blink, not knowing why I had to reassure her. Or maybe I'm reassuring myself. McGonagall's eyes soften as she looks down at me.

"I know."

I nod, trying my best to believe her. McGonagall leads me back to my chair, and she seats herself next to me. We wait for a little while as Madame Pomfrey tends to Neville. I find myself twisting the ring on my finger. I don't know how it works, but it always seems to appear when I'm worried. I guess it's magic. It always appears on my left hand on my middle finger. The ring is just a gold band without any engravings. I don't know how long we wait, but I get more worried as time goes on. Then suddenly, Dumbledore appears, carrying Harry in his arms. I leap up, rushing over to him. McGonagall and Hermione follow my lead.

"Harry!" I cry as I notice he's unconscious.

Madame Pomfrey comes up to Dumbledore, guiding him to the bed next to Ron. He gently sets Harry down, then Pomfrey starts casting diagnostic spells on my brother.

"What happened?" I ask frantically.

Dumbledore studies me, then looks at Hermione and McGonagall. Both of them are looking at Harry, identical expressions of worry on their faces. Dumbeldore sighs.

"He met Professor Quirrell," I start.

Realisation dawns on me. This whole time we had thought it was Snape because he was threatening Quirrell and hurting Harry. But it was actually Snape protecting Harry from Quirrell. I see Dumbledore studying me before looking away. I frown slightly but don't comment. Hermione gasps, looking confused as she turns away from Harry. McGonagall also looks away from him and faces Dumbledore.

"What happened?" she repeats me.

"The last enchantment was my own," Dumbledore explains. "It was the Mirror of Erised. I made it so that only someone who wanted to obtain the Stone but not use it could see it in the Mirror, and it would appear in their possession. Quirinus could not find it, but Harry could."

He pauses to make sure we're following. I listen as my mind turns. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Professor Quirrell was housing Voldemort."

I gasp, unbelieving. Hermione goes pale, and McGonagall goes weak and falls into Dumbledore. He grabs her arm to steady her, wrapping his other arm loosely around her back. I watch the motion carefully, not helping but noticing the look he gives her. Despite the situation, I see concern in his eyes as he looks down at McGonagall. I expect her to push away or steady herself in an attempt to be 'strong', and she does. But not before briefly covering Dumbledore's hand with her own. My eyes widen as I understand the interaction. I barely manage to stop another gasp as I glance at Hermione, noting she didn't see the exchange. I flick my eyes back to the couple and catch a guilty look on Dumbledore's face. It disappears quickly though and I don't have time to process anything more before he continues.

"Somehow Voldemort merged with Quirrell and used him. He found out Harry possessed the Stone and attacked him. I got to them just before he fell unconscious."

"And Quirrell?" Hermione whispers.

A sombre crosses Dumbledore's face.

"Voldemort left his body, leaving him weak and defenceless. He's…dead."

A feeling of dread settles in my stomach. Madame Pomfrey chooses that moment to say her piece.

"Mr Potter will be alright," she says.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"He just needs rest. As does Mr Weasley. Mr Longbottom should be right by the morning as well," she adds, glancing at Hermione.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione apologises. "I didn't want to, I just –"

"Miss Granger," McGonagall interrupts.

Hermione's' mouth snaps shut.

"Twenty points will be taken from Gryffindor, and you will have detention with me tomorrow night. But otherwise, you are not in trouble," McGonagall says.

It's now Hermione's turn to breathe a sigh of relief. She nods gratefully, trying to conceal a relieved smile.

"You two should try to get some sleep," Dumbledore suggests.

"I'm not leaving Harry," I say immediately.

"I wasn't implying that," Dumbledore says gently, looking to Madame Pomfrey.

The matron frowns disapprovingly. I see an argument forming on her lips, but seeing the look on Dumbledore's face she sighs reluctantly.

"You have permission to stay with your brother," she says.

"What about me?" Hermione asks. "I want to stay as well."

Pomfrey looks at Dumbledore to see his expecting his look. A frown on her face, she gives Hermione permission to stay.

"You will both be in classes tomorrow though," McGonagall puts in. "Mr Longbottom as well, and Mr Weasley if he's alright."

We nod our understanding. Dumbledore and McGonagall then leave the Hospital Wing, leaving us with Madame Pomfrey. She instructs us to get her if anything happens, then leaves us as well. I move my chair so that I'm next to Harry. There are just a bedside table and a bit of space between where Hermione sits next to Ron and where I sit. Our chairs are turned slightly so we can to each other.

"What happened down there?" I ask her, grasping Harry's hand as he sleeps.

Hermione sighs, glancing down at Ron before facing me. She then tells me about how they used the flute Harry got from Hagrid at Christmas to get past Fluffy. She explains how they got past the Devils Snare and used the brooms to capture the key. When she gets to the part about the chess game and how Ron sacrificed himself so that she and Harry could continue, I feel an overwhelming amount of gratitude to Ron.

"The troll had already been taken out by Quirrell and the next test was rather simple. It was logic," Hermione explains. "There were seven potions and we had to figure out which ones would get us through the fire that stopped us from going on. There was only enough for one though. Harry told me to drink the potion that let me go back, and he took the one that let him continue. I should have done something. I shouldn't have let him go on alone. I –"

"Hey, hey!" I interrupt. "Hermione."

I shift in my chair to completely look at her.

"There was nothing else you could have done. Plus, Harry never would have let you go. He's too stubborn for that."

Hermione laughs a little.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just feel terrible," she says.

"I know. But it's alright," I reassure her.

I shift a little uncomfortably in my seat.

"You did more than me," I say.

She looks at me guiltily.

"Why didn't you wait for me, like we agreed?" I ask.

"I tried to get Harry to. But he wouldn't," Hermione explains, looking down at her hands. "He didn't want you to get hurt."

I sigh, not so much angry as I am annoyed.

"I didn't want to go, but I would've. I wish he could've trusted me," I say.

"Oh, Isobel," Hermione cries. "He did trust you. He does. We all do. But he loves you too much to put you in danger. I mean, he didn't even want us coming. It's not your fault Harry's hurt."

"I could've kept him safe," I say.

"You did," Hermione says. "You made him realise just how dangerous it was. He would've gone in there blindly without your warning."

I scoff, trying to blink tears back.

"That's nothing. I was angry, and we were arguing."

Hermione tries to interrupt but I talk over her.

"For so long, Harry's been the one to protect me. When we got here, I thought, maybe, it was finally my time to protect him. To make sure he didn't do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing in our lives. But this whole year it's just been him doing the same thing as always. Looking out for me. And don't get me wrong, I love him for that. I just wish for once he would let me keep him safe."

"Isobel…"

"I'm sick of him viewing me as his little sister he has to keep safe. I can look out for myself."

It's only when I notice the potion on Harry's bedstand shaking, that I cut off. I take a few deep breaths to calm down.

"He doesn't see you like that Isobel," Hermione says quietly. "He knows you can. But if there's one good Gryffindor thing about him, apart from bravery, it's his loyalty. He would quite literally die for you. It's who he is. No matter what you say, he's always going to worry about you and try to protect you. Just like you will for him. I know you don't like it, but there's nothing you can do about it."

I sigh, knowing she's right, but not wanting to accept it.

"I just feel like I should have done more," I say.

"I know. But there's nothing you can do now except wait for him to be okay," Hermione says. "Both of them."

She looks down at Ron and squeezes his hand. I turn back to Harry. He has a few cuts and scratches on his face and arms, but otherwise, he looks alright. But I know something bad must've happened that Dumbledore didn't say. I sit there, watching Harry until eventually, I fall asleep holding his hand. But something weird happens in my dreams.

_Dumbledore and McGonagall stand in the Headmaster's office, a wide range of emotions on their faces. _

"_They could've been killed, Albus!" McGonagall yells, enraged. _

_Dumbledore sighs. He sits down in the chair at his desk. _

"_I know Minerva," he says. "I know."_

_McGonagall sighs, her expression falling. She walks over to Dumbledore and perches next to him on the desk. She reaches up and cups his cheek with her hand. _

"_I'm sorry," she whispers. _

_They stay like that for a moment before Dumbledore pulls away. _

"_I should've known. I should've been there to stop them. I –"_

"_You couldn't have known Albus," McGonagall cuts in. "Those four students seem to be capable of breaking every school rule if they put their minds to it. And they'd be damned if they let themselves get caught. Don't let it weigh you down."_

"_But Minerva! They're students at my school. I should be able to keep them safe. I should be able to keep the _school_ safe. But instead, I allowed Voldemort himself to enter the school and harm my students. I've failed in my duties as Headmaster."_

_McGonagall slides off the desk and conjures a chair to sit next to Dumbledore. She draws it in close so their knees touch. Then she takes his hands in hers. _

"_You haven't failed, Albus. Yes, not everything went right this year. But that doesn't mean you failed. Harry's still alive__,__ isn't he? _You_ made sure of that. Voldemort didn't harm anyone else. You did a good job. Next year, I know you'll learn from your mistakes, and do better. We might not be students here anymore, but we still learn more and more every day."_

_Dumbledore smiles sadly at McGonagall. _

"_Thank you__,__ Min. You always know what to say."_

I wake up to Madame Pomfrey gently shaking me. I blink to clear the sleep out of my eyes. I push the dream to the back of my mind. Hermione is awake, talking to Ron. I realise with a start he must have woken up during the night. Neville is nowhere to be seen, so I assume he's already gone back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry's still asleep though. I take one last look at him before going over to the other two.

"How are you feeling Ron?" I ask.

He smiles slightly.

"Been better."

I wrap him in my arms and hug him. Slightly startled, he hugs me back. When I pull back, my eyes are slightly watery.

"Thank you," I tell him. "For keeping my brother safe. And Hermione. They couldn't have done what they did down there without you."

He shrugs his shoulders a little.

"Well, I'm sure they would've been al –"

I cut him off with another hug. I stay there a moment before letting him go. He smiles at me.

"We should get going," Hermione says softly.

I nod, and we head out of the hospital wing together. We clean up before heading to breakfast. It looks like no one knows what happened last night. Neville sits a little further away from us than normal, but otherwise, the absence of Harry doesn't bother anyone. We go through our morning lessons like normal, but when lunch comes around, people start asking questions.

"Where's Harry?"

"Why're you all scratched up?"

We don't answer them until Fred and George come up to us.

"Where's your other half?" Fred asks me.

"Yeah, we noticed you weren't quite complete," George adds.

I glance at Ron and Hermione, silently asking whether to tell them or not. They shrug, so I turn back to the twins.

"He's in the hospital wing," I tell them.

"What happened?" they ask.

With the help of the other two, we explain to them what happened. A few other Gryffindors around us listen in.

"Bloody hell!" Seamus says when we finish explaining. "I don't know whether to be impressed or outraged."

"I do," Dean says. "I'm definitely impressed."

"Definitely!" the twins agree.

I roll my eyes, turning away from them as Ron keeps talking. I try to talk to Neville, so Hermione reluctantly stays in the conversation with the others.

"Hermione's really sorry about what happened you know," I tell him.

Neville sniffs a little.

"I know. I just didn't want Gryffindor losing any more points than we already have," he says.

"You were so brave, you know? Not many people can stand up to their friends like that," I praise him.

Our last class of the day is Transfiguration. The lesson goes by normally enough and at the end, McGonagall calls me back.

"As we didn't finish our conversation last night, I would like to meet with you in the Headmasters office tonight. Eight o'clock," she informs me.

I get the feeling that's not all she wants to talk to me about, but I don't comment. When I catch up with Ron and Hermione, I tell them what McGonagall asked. As exams are over for the year, we don't have any major amount of homework, so we visit Harry in the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey informs us he hasn't woken up, so we just sit around him talking. When the time to leave comes around, we head back to Gryffindor Tower. We complete the homework we were given in a much shorter time than normal, and head to dinner a little later. When eight o'clock comes around, I bid goodbye to the two of them, and head to Dumbledore's office. When I enter, I see the both of them are already here.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore greets. "We'd like to talk to you."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. There should only be two or three chapters left of the first book. Thank you for reading!**


	16. Explanations

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

"_Miss Potter," Dumbledore greets. "We'd like to talk to you."_

**Chapter 16**

* * *

I swallow nervously in anticipation of the conversation to come. There are several things they could want to talk to me about. Harry looking for the Stone, my exams or something else entirely.

"It came to our attention," Dumbledore says. "That you are aware of the relationship between Minerva and me."

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. I was not expecting this.

"Um…" I start awkwardly. "Y-yes. Sir."

I'm becoming more embarrassed by the second. It's not every day you have to discuss a romantic relationship between your Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress, both of whom are considerably older. Looking at McGonagall I can also detect similar thoughts from her. The couple glance at each other before Dumbledore looks back at me.

"Well, I hope you understand that we're asking you to not say anything to anyone," he says.

I nod.

"Of course Sir. I understand."

He smiles at me a little.

"Thank you."

I manage a small smile in return. There are a few moments of awkward silence before McGonagall clears her throat.

"Right. Well, that's one subject out of the way," she says. "I would also like to apologise for my actions last night. I was harsh and was accusing you of –"

"You don't have to apologise," I interrupt. "You didn't accuse me of anything. You were asking me about a matter I shouldn't have known of in concern for the school. And you had every right to do so. If anything, I should be apologising for interfering."

"Thank you, Isobel," Dumbledore says. "And although their actions might not have been the best, I am grateful towards your three friends. Without them…well, things could have gone quite bad. But maybe for future reference, bring it up with me if you discover something like this again."

I hear the warning in his tone, but the twinkle in his eyes tells me he isn't upset. I nod my understanding.

"On the topic of that," McGonagall suddenly asks. "How is your brother?"

Her tone is casual, but see the worry in her eyes. I remember my dream from last night and the way she had paced up and down the Hospital Wing waiting for Dumbledore to bring Harry back.

"He's still asleep," I answer. "But Madame Pomfrey said he'll be alright."

She nods, looking a little relieved. Again, we descend into a small silence. Then Dumbledore breaks it, albeit a tentatively.

"Isobel," he starts. "The term ends in a few days. As you know, students aren't able to stay at the castle over summer…"

He trails off, but I get the implication.

"We'll have to go back to the Dursleys," I say.

Dumbledore looks at me sadly, nodding his head. Dread fills my stomach as I think of what that means. No doubt they would treat us even worse now that we're confirmed 'freaks.' I try not to let tears enter my eyes.

"I understand," I say, my voice wobbling slightly.

"I have spoken to Mr Dursley, and he and his wife have been warned that if any harm comes to either you or Harry, there will be…consequences. I am very sorry that you have to return there, but I'm afraid nowhere else is able to care for you," Dumbledore says. "If anything happens, anything at all, do not hesitate to owl the school, and it will be dealt with."

I stare at him, disbelieving. The nightmare of the Dursley's is finally over? Without thinking, I rush forward and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly. Gratitude for the Headmaster and everything he's done to help flows through me. A few tears of happiness slide down my cheeks as I pull away.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I'm just…Thank you."

"No one should ever have to go through what you did Isobel. If I were any less of a man, I would have flown to his house in a fury and dealt with him in a way not appropriate the moment I found out what they did to you," Dumbledore states. "I just wish there were another place for you to go."

I smile widely at him, almost able to forget the Dursleys. I turn slightly to face both professors.

"Both of you have done so much for me. I wouldn't have any idea how to repay you. You've been so kind and helpful, and you've taught me so much," I tell them.

"You don't have to repay us, Isobel," McGonagall says. "Just knowing that you and your friends will be safer is enough for us."

I wipe the stray tears off my face, then offer them both another smile.

"There is one more thing though," Dumbledore says.

I look at him curiously.

"When we were heading to the third-floor, you found a short-cut," he continues. "How did you know that was there?"

My smile fades a little as I consider his question. It had been the trail, which had guided me through the castle since my first day. But how do I explain that to him?

"I'm not entirely sure," I start. "Ever since the beginning of the year, whenever I've needed to find someplace within the castle.." I trail off, not knowing how to finish. "A sort of path would light up…"

"Golden?," Dumbledore puts in.

I nod, only slightly surprised he knows what I'm talking about. He seemed pretty sure last night when I told them about the short-cut, so I assume that means Dumbledore saw it as well.

"I'm assuming not all students see it?" I ask.

"You would be correct in that assumption," Dumbledore says. "Even the staff do not see it."

I glance at McGonagall, and she nods slightly to confirm his words.

"How can I see it then?" I ask.

Dumbledore sighs, looking at a lost for words.

"I'm not sure. As far as I was concerned, only Headmasters or Headmistresses could see it."

I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to make of that. Maybe it has something to do with me being 'extremely powerful'? I don't say anything, not sure of what to say. Meanwhile, Dumbledore is staring at a place over my head in thought. I look at McGonagall. She shakes her head a little, indicating to not interrupt him.

"I wonder…" Dumbledore strokes his silvery beard in thought. "Would you mind doing something for me, Isobel?"

Surprised, I nod. He beckons me over to him. Then he directs me over to the wall of his office.

"I know it might seem ridiculous, but could you lay your hand on the wall?" Dumbledore asks.

I stare at him dumbly. Lay my hand on the wall? McGonagall coughs slightly, reminding me not to question him. I do as he says. When my fingertips touch the rough stone, I gasp. Instead of feeling the texture of the wall, it feels like I'm _touching_ a shiver. I draw my hand away in surprise.

"What is that?" I ask.

Dumbledore looks at me with a mixture of confusion and…awe?

"That is the magic of Hogwarts, running through its walls," he says quietly.

My mouth falls open. The magic of Hogwarts?

"How -?" I stutter. "Wha – I don't understand. How can I feel the magic of…Hogwarts?"

"I think, somehow, your magic has tied into the castle," Dumbledore says, looking even more confused.

"How is that possible?" McGonagall asks, looking just as confused.

"I do not know," Dumbledore replies, letting out a frustrated sigh.

I can tell he is annoyed, not knowing something. Dumbledore is a man of knowledge, he told me that at the beginning of the year. Him not understanding what's happened would make him utterly frustrated. In his silence, I start thinking about the night I had the dream where the girls couldn't wake me up. That night, I had asked the professors about the mark on my shoulder, without telling them it was there. Dumbledore said it wasn't a topic to discuss that night. I wondered if I should bring it up now?

"Is there something you want to ask Isobel?" McGonagall asks.

I look at her, surprised.

"You have the look you always get when you're about to ask a question," she explains.

I think about that. It's nice for someone to be able to read my expressions, but it's also a little unsettling that she knows me that well and that it would be hard to keep something from her. I shake that off though and focus back on the question I was going to ask.

"I was just wondering," I start. "That night, when I had the bad nightmare. I asked about that symbol. The triangle and the circle and the line."

Dumbledore draws a breath and McGonagall shifts uncomfortably. They were obviously hoping to avoid this. I frown, more curious than ever to figure out what it is.

"What does it mean? You're acting like it's something as bad as Voldemort."

Dumbledore sighs.

"It's not kind of me to leave you with questions. But that is not something you should be concerning yourself with at this age," he says gently.

Despite his attempts to diffuse my interest, I find myself becoming annoyed.

"I think it is," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "I had a dream about it that involved me. I want to know. Even if it's the scaled-down version, I want an answer."

I realise that despite the familiarity between us, Dumbledore is still the Headmaster and McGonagall a highly respected teacher. And I basically just shouted at them.

"Please," I add, my voice softening a little.

The couple looks at each other. For the first time, I find myself wondering about their relationship. Obviously, I know that they're together. My eyes wander down to where McGonagall's left hand is. I don't see a ring on it, but if they don't want people to know, would she wear one? On her other hand though, I notice a gold band with an emerald set in it on her would-be ring finger. I look at Dumbledore's hands and notice a similar ring on the same finger, only it's set with a sapphire. Maybe they wear them on those hands so people don't ask questions. Thinking about them married makes it easier to come to terms with their relationship. They are still looking at each other, but their expressions keep changing. Dumbledore seems to be frustrated and uncertain, and McGonagall has a determined look on her face. With a start, I realise they must be communicating. I had seen them do it before, but it had only been quick so I didn't think anything of it. But this time they seem to almost be arguing, so it's been a while since either of them spoke. How are they doing it? I've heard of mind-reading in the muggle world. Is it a similar matter in the wizarding world? Whatever it is, I know better than to interrupt, so I wait a little impatiently for them to address me again. Finally, after what seems like forever, Dumbledore sighs then faces me.

"My apologies Isobel," he says.

I bite my lip, not wanting to dissuade him from possibly sharing the information.

"The Deathly Hallows is an old symbol of three highly powerful objects," Dumbledore starts. "It is based off a story in which the character Death gives three brothers one each. For years, there's been speculation as to if these objects are real or not. The reason for this is it is believed that if one possesses all three of the Hallows, they will become the Master of Death."

Dumbledore pauses.

"The Deathly Hallows," I say. "That's what it is. The symbol."

Dumbledore nods. On my shoulder, the mark tingles as if in recognition of its name. I'm tempted to rub it because the sensation is uncomfortable, but I know they will figure out how I know about the symbol. I'm not sure I want them knowing that right now.

"What are the objects?" I ask.

Again, Dumbledore sighs. I know he doesn't want to tell me, but McGonagall gives him a pointed glare. I flash her a grateful look. She smiles the slightest.

"The shapes that make up the Hallows each represent the objects," Dumbledore explains. "The triangle represents the Cloak of Invisibility. The circle, the Resurrection Stone. And the last, the line, the Elder Wand."

As Dumbledore lists them, I feel each shape burn when he says them. I try to shake the lingering feeling of the line when he says the Elder Wand.

"Why are they so special?" I ask.

The Cloak of Invisibility. The Invisibility Cloak. Isn't that what the cloak Harry has is? And the Elder Wand. Admittedly, I don't know anything about it, but surely it's just a wand?

"There is no proof that these three items truly exist," Dumbledore explains. "There are many Invisibility Cloaks known, and there have been stories about an Elder Wand but they are hundreds of years old, so unreliable. And the Resurrection Stone is unheard of. No one that we are aware of knows if they are real or not."

I listen to his every word, determined to understand as much as possible about the mark on my shoulder. While his explanation answers what the symbol is, I still am no closer to knowing why it was emblazoned on me when I was a child. I try to think of a way to ask about it without specifically mentioning it. But Dumbledore beats me to it.

"You said in your dream your brother and yourself were taken," he recalls. "And a ritual was performed. Where did you see the Hallows in the ritual?"

I inwardly curse myself for revealing so much.

"I'm not sure," I try to cover up. "I only saw pieces of what it. One of the images I saw was that. I don't know why though."

I try to keep my face looking confused and my voice small in order to make the lie more convincing. Dumbledore studies me for a minute, but can't seem to fault me.

"Very well," he says. "I suggest you don't think about it too much. After all, it was just a bad dream."

I nod but don't believe him. All of my dreams recently have been of events that I'm sure have occurred. I don't know why or how I saw them, but I know they were all real. McGonagall glances beyond me at the clock on the wall and makes a small sound of surprise.

"By Merlin, it's getting late."

Indeed it had. The clock reads almost ten o'clock. Normally, our lessons would only go for an hour or just over, but our conversation had almost gone for two.

"Minerva's right," Dumbledore says. "You should be heading back to your Common Room, if not your dormitory."

I nod, moving towards the door. Then, on second thought, I turn back to them. I quickly give each of them a hug, then step back.

"Thank you," I say. "For everything. For organising what you did with the Dursleys, for helping me with my magic, for keeping my brother safe. I can't imagine what this year would've been like if not for your help."

McGonagall smiles at me.

"Goodnight Isobel," she says softly.

"Goodnight," Dumbledore says as well.

I smile, then turn back towards the door. I head out of Dumbledore's office and make my way back to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione and Ron are still up, so I vaguely tell them what happened. We then make our way to our dormitories, and I collapse onto my bed. It doesn't take me long to fall asleep, and thankfully, my sleep is uninterrupted. The next day, everyone has found out about what happened with the Philosopher's Stone. Luckily, it's Saturday, so we don't have any classes. Everyone comes up to the three of us at breakfast, pestering us about Harry. We do our best to ignore them, and I only answer when Oliver Wood comes up to me.

"Potter!" he calls out.

He lightly pushes the others out of the way to talk to me.

"You better be ready for training in the next ten minutes," he warns.

I look at him, confused. He stares at me.

"Quidditch!" he exclaims. "The match tomorrow? Against Ravenclaw?"

I gasp. Amongst all the drama, I had completely forgotten about the match.

"We're still playing?" I ask.

Wood looks like I've lost my mind.

"Of course we are. It's the last game of the season," he says like it's obvious.

"But we're a player short. Harry's in the Hospital Wing. Even if he wakes up, he'll never be cleared for the game," I point out.

Wood sighs.

"I know. I've got a plan though. Quidditch pitch in ten minutes. You better be there."

With that, he walks off. I look back to the others, an apologetic look on my face.

"It's alright," Ron says. "Wood'll kill you if you don't go. Don't worry, we'll amuse ourselves."

Hermione agrees with a nod and a smile. I thank them again before dashing off to Gryffindor Tower to grab my broom and gear. I make it to the pitch with less than ten seconds to spare, as Wood reminds me. I apologise, then head over to where Angelina, Katie and another girl stands. I look curiously at her before returning my attention to Wood.

"Right, now that we're all here," Wood gives me a pointed glare. "I'll tell you what's happening. Everyone except Potter should know Alicia. Isobel, this is Alicia Spinnet, our reserve Chaser."

He indicates to the new girl, and I give her a small smile. But then what he says reaches my ears.

"Wait, why do we need another Chaser?" I ask.

"Because you'll be playing Seeker as your brother has landed himself in the Hospital Wing," Wood tells me.

I gape at him.

"Seeker?" I exclaim. "I've never played that position though."

"That's what this practice is for," Wood says.

He gives me a look that I interpret as _Don't question me._

"This is the best we can do," Wood informs us, talking to the whole team. "If we don't use this play, we'll be down a Seeker. Meaning, we don't have a chance of winning. Alicia has been our reserve before, so she knows our skills and weaknesses. Potter, we've all seen your skills on a broom. You might not be the best, but you'll be better than any of us."

I swallow dryly.

"So basically if we lose it's on me?" I ask. "That's fine."

"No pressure," Fred says.

"Yeah, you'll be fine," George adds.

"But Wood will kill you if we do," Fred says.

I glare at them.

"You're not helping," I tell them.

They try to stifle laughs behind their beater bats.

"Alright," Wood says, clapping to get our attention. "Let's get to it."

It takes me a bit to get used to staying out of the game instead of trying to catch the Quaffle, but eventually, I can pretty much avoid focusing on the game. The first time I spot the snitch, I try and go after it with full speed, but I lose sight of it almost immediately. Each time I spot it, I try a different approach. Each time, I lose it. I almost manage to catch it once, but then the Quaffle flies past me and I get distracted, losing sight of the golden blur.

"Potter!" Wood calls from his spot in front of the goals. "Your job is to keep your eyes on the Snitch. Nothing else."

I let out a frustrated sigh. I don't have the energy to argue with him, so I just nod, resuming my position above the others. A couple of hours later, we're finally able to take a break.

"I want you back here in an hour," Wood tells us. "We still need more practice."

Everyone groans and the twins try and argue with him.

"I don't care about your other 'commitments," he tells them. "If you're not back here in an hour, your off the team next year."

The look he gives us makes it impossible to think he's joking. We trudge back up to the castle, none of us in the mood to talk. I decide to visit Harry in case there's any improvement with him. I meet Ron and Hermione along the way and explain the situation to them as we walk towards the Hospital Wing. When we get there, Madame Pomfrey informs us nothing has changed, but we go in, nonetheless. I sit beside Harry while Ron and Hermione take seats on either side of me.

"You know," I say. "It'd be really helpful if you woke up right now you git," I tell Harry.

Ron smirks a little while Hermione looks baffled. I give them a sideways gin. Unfortunately, Harry does not wake up. My smile falls a little, but I don't let it bother me too much. I soothe his fringe away, looking sadly at the scar on his forehead. For years, we thought it was just a reminder of the accident our parents had supposedly died in. But now we knew it was from Voldemort. I sigh, knowing that this is just the beginning of bad things to happen. Now we knew for sure Voldemort isn't gone, we've got to be on even more alert. I know that eventually, there will be a war to defeat him. And no matter how much I don't like it; Harry is going to be part of it. I had sometimes discussed this with Dumbledore and McGonagall. At first, they were hesitant to discuss the topic with me, but eventually, they realised I needed to know, and that I could handle it. We had discovered that my brain has developed quicker than everyone else's, so I can take in and comprehend knowledge of about a fifteen-year-old. And the magic I am able to perform is equivalent to about a seventh-year. Dumbledore estimates that by the time I'm in my final year at Hogwarts, I will have more knowledge and magic than almost any powerful witch or wizard. The thought at first was daunting, but I know McGonagall and Dumbledore will help train me so I don't over-exhaust myself or cause harm to anyone. I know that I will eventually have to tell Harry, and probably Ron and Hermione as well, but I don't want to put that on them yet. Hermione calling my name pulls me out of my reverie. I blink, looking at her.

"What was that?" I ask.

Ron sighs, but Hermione looks at me funny.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

I shake my head, smiling to reassure her.

"Nothing," I tell her. "I was just lost in my thoughts."

Hermione nods, still looking a bit sceptical.

"I was asking how you think tomorrow's game will be?" Ron repeats.

I let out a humourless laugh.

"Fantastic."

My voice is laced with sarcasm. Ron raises his eyebrows and Hermione gives me a sympathetic look. I sigh.

"Alicia's a good chaser. Really good. But Harry's a much better Seeker than me. I haven't had the time to work out all the technicalities and small points to improve my skills. I mean, Harry had months and months to become as good as he is. And although I'm good on a broom and maybe better than the other people that could be Seeker, I'm still not amazing. I'm sure Ravenclaw's Seeker will be much better than me," I finish bluntly.

"Don't be like that Isobel," Ron defends. "With your skills, I'm betting _only _Harry would be better than you."

I blush slightly under his complement.

"Thanks, Ron," I say. "I just hope I don't let the team down tomorrow," I add sadly.

"No matter what happens," Hermione says. "Everyone knows you're really good. Maybe not as a Seeker, but definitely as a Chaser.

I'm too impressed that she knows the positions to point out that it could actually very much matter. We stay there talking until I have to go back to the Quidditch pitch. I spend the rest of the afternoon straining my eyes to find the Snitch while getting yelled at by Wood to hurry up. Despite all the complaining and the gradual decline in performance, Wood keeps up on the field until the moon rises. By that time, it's virtually impossible for me to have a chance at finding the Snitch, so Wood reluctantly lets us go. Dripping with sweat, mud and dirt and impossibly tired, we all make our way back to Gryffindor Tower. We get a few looks as we walk through the corridors, but none of us has the effort to care. Even a snide comment from Malfoy falls deaf on my ears. When we go through the portrait hole, everyone looks up from whatever they're doing, a range of looks on their faces. Some people look excited and happy, probably because they think all the practice means we have to win tomorrow. Others, such as Percy Weasley, wrinkle their noses in disgust and ignore us. Ron and Hermione come up to me, but I excuse myself to go shower. Neither of them protests. When I reach my dormitory, I gratefully strip down and step into the shower. I scrub every part of my body to get all the dirt off, then just stand under the cool water to wash my sweat away. Taking longer than strictly necessary, I finally step out to dry myself off and put a fresh set of clothes on. When I'm done, I go back down to where the others are waiting. We talk mindlessly for a bit before it's time for dinner. Afterwards, we complete the small amount of work we have to do before relaxing in front of the fire. We talk about anything to keep our minds off Harry, and mine off Quidditch tomorrow. When it starts getting late, we decide to call it a night and head back to our dormitories. I lie in bed for a while unable to keep my mind off the topics we had avoided. Eventually, though, sleep calls me and I fall asleep to the sound of the girls steady breathing around me.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to leave a review. **


	17. The not-so end

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

**Chapter 17**

* * *

The first thing that enters my mind when I wake up is Harry. Then I remember the Quidditch game, and how I have to play his position. I groan and roll over, trying to get back to sleep. The sunlight shining in through the window reminds me that I have to get up though. I sit up with a sigh, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. I look around the room and see Parvati and Lavender still asleep. Hermione is nowhere to be seen though. That's not unusual though, so I don't bother trying to find her. I try to keep quiet as I gather my Quidditch robes and head to the bathroom. When I emerge, the other girls are all awake, and Hermione has returned. I greet them good morning before descending to the common room. I find Dean and Seamus already down, so I chat with them until the other three come down. The six of us then head down to breakfast together. The Hall is buzzing with chatter, and Wood is sitting away from everyone. I give his friends a confused look.

"Told us not to disturb him," one of them says.

"Yeah, didn't want to risk any limbs," another adds.

I nod, eyeing the captain wearily. He certainly does look like he could harm anyone to come near him. Luckily, he doesn't acknowledge my presence though, so I don't worry too much about it. We choose a spot a little way down from him, then dig into breakfast. Well, everyone else does. I move my food around my plate, not eating anything. Hermione notices and gives me a look.

"Come on, a least eat some bacon," she chides.

I frown, knowing she's right. I reluctantly fork a piece and bring it to my mouth. The smell is too enticing, so eventually, I give in. I chew, then swallow. I suddenly realise how hungry I am. I end up eating almost as much as Ron, much to the amusement of the others. Finally, the time to head down to the Quidditch pitch comes, and when we get there I separate from the others to head to the dressing room. When I get there, Wood is pacing, and Katie and Alicia are getting ready. After a few minutes, we're joined by Fred, George and Angelina. Once we're ready, Wood faces us.

"Alright team. This is it. We all know the plan?" he asks.

We reluctantly nod.

"We can do this. In the end, though, it's up to you Isobel. You've got to get that Snitch," Wood says.

I nod, taking a deep breath. With everyone's eyes on me, I feel the pressure of the game weighing down on me more than ever. I try to keep a positive attitude though, mustering a small smile.

"We've got this," I say.

We head out onto the Quidditch pitch, taking our positions around Madame Hooch. Wood and the Ravenclaw Captain shake hands. I eye the opposing teams Seeker. A short girl with long dark hair, she looked quite confident, even though she only looks like a second-year.

"Mount your broom," Hooch calls.

I swing my leg over my broom, gripping the handle tightly.

"On my whistle," Hooch orders. "Three…two…one."

When I hear the whistle, I shoot off into the air, circling above everyone. I try to follow the path of the Snitch, but it flies off before I can. Wood's words from yesterday circle my mind.

"_Our best chance is getting the Snitch early," he told me. _

I try to focus on my task at hand. A few times when the Quaffle comes past I almost reach out to catch it, but then draw away at the last second, remembering my position. I silently cheer when we get a few goals in, pulling us ahead; forty to twenty. Our success doesn't last long though, and Ravenclaw even up with us. The game continues for a bit with neither team getting the upper hand. I keep trying to look for the Snitch, but I can't spot it. Luckily though, Ravenclaw's Seeker can't seem to find it either. About ten minutes into the game though, disaster strikes.

"Substitute Gryffindor Chaser Alicia Spinnet takes possession of the Quaffle," I hear Lee commentating. "Spinnet passes to Johnson, to Bell and back to Johnson. Johnson passes to Spinnet. Looks like a clear run."

I keep my ear out, still trying to look for the Snitch. Then suddenly, Lee swears into the microphone, earning himself a reprimand from McGonagall.

"Spinnet takes a hit from a passing bludger. She doesn't look too good," worry laces Lee's voice.

I groan, knowing that's not good for us. I chance a glance at Alicia. Lee's right. She doesn't look good. Her left shoulder is out of position and I see blood through her robes. Angelina hovers near her, asking her questions. Alicia shakes her head and flies off to take her position again. Angelina doesn't look happy. The game continues, but we fall behind. At one point, Alicia flies close enough to me that I hear her shouting at Angelina across the pitch.

"I'm fine!" she yells. "Pass the bloody Quaffle to me," she shouts in anger.

I can tell she's in pain, but she doesn't give up. The next time there's an opportunity, Angelina reluctantly passes the Quaffle to her. Alicia carries it up a bit before passing it off to Katie. I focus back on my game. Everything seems to be going alright, although we're still behind until Alicia suddenly slips off her broom. About thirty feet away from me, all I can do is watch in horror. She seems to fall in slow-motion as time slows down around me. Closer to her, I see the twins dive towards her. I hold my breath as Fred races beneath her. He reaches out as Alicia falls past him. Impossibly, he manages to grab her injured arm, stopping her fall. Alicia screams in pain as Fred's broom dips with the extra weight. George flies in next to her, taking her uninjured arm. With Fred's help, they manage to position Alicia behind George on his broom. He flies to the ground, Fred following him, watching Alicia's back. Madame Hooch pulls Alicia off George's broom. She blows her whistle, calling time out. I sigh with relief, flying down with the rest of the team. On the ground, Alicia is barely conscious as Madame Pomfrey struggles to support her. On the other side of the pitch, I spot McGonagall racing towards us, Lee at her heels.

"Is she okay?" Lee frantically asks.

"She will be," McGonagall reassures him as she waves her wand.

She orders one of the older students to take Alicia up to the Hospital Wing. She then forces Lee to return to commentating while Madame Hooch informs us time-out will be over in two-minutes. Wood huddles us up.

"Alright, we're down a player. But that doesn't matter. Johnson, Bell, keep the Quaffle off the Ravenclaws. Weasleys hits those bludgers like they're good behaviour. Potter. _Get that Snitch."_

Hooch calls out ten seconds. We break the huddle and mount our brooms. When she blows the whistle, I fly into the air with new determination. The rest of the players also seem to realise the intensity of the game. The Weasley's take Oliver's advice to heart, and the Ravenclaws only just manage to get out of the way in time. Katie and Angelina use this to their advantage by keeping the Quaffle out of their possession. Not having Alicia means they can't score as many goals, because that's normally my job, so they subbed Alicia into that position. They try their best though, and with a handy bludger, they manage to get a couple of goals in. The scores currently sit sixty to fifty in our favour. But before long, the opposing team can easily dodge the bludgers, and they pull way ahead of us. By now, every time I fly by Oliver, he yells at me to hurry up. I squint and strain my eyes in search of it. But I can't find it. When the score sits at sixty to one hundred, not in our favour, the Ravenclaw Seeker spots the snitch. I know my best chance is to follow her and try to pull ahead, so I speed after her. With the speed of the Nimbus Two Thousand on my side, I manage to pull up to right beside her. When I do, I can spot the golden blur, so I put on an extra surge of speed. I'm almost close enough to reach out when suddenly, I hear gasps from the crowd. Not a fraction too late, I spot a bludger coming directly for me. I only just manage to dive out of the way, but that gives a chance for the girl to pull ahead of me. She reaches out and closes her fist. Not a second later, she pulls to a stop, grinning from ear to ear.

"Cho Chang has caught the Snitch," Lee calls out, not sounding impressed. "Ravenclaw wins, two hundred and eighty to sixty."

Collective groans come from the Gryffindors. I feel terrible. Ravenclaws are cheering, and the Hufflepuffs are clapping. But the Slytherins are yelling and screaming with happiness. They've won the Cup. If I had managed to catch the Snitch, we could've won. I fly to the ground with the rest of the team, none of us looking particularly happy. Ever the good sportsman, Oliver shakes hands with the Ravenclaw Captain. Cho, the Seeker, comes up to me.

"Congratulations," I say weakly.

She gives me an apologetic smile.

"Thanks," she says. "I'm sorry about your brother. And your Chaser," she apologises.

I give her a small smile.

"Thanks," I say.

The rest of her team swarms around her, so I back away, returning to Oliver and the team.

"I'm so sorry guys," I apologise.

"Don't worry about it," Angelina says. "We'll do better next year."

Wood nods dejectedly.

"This is our best season so far team, we've done well," he says.

He's obviously upset, but he doesn't say anything, which I appreciate. The rest of the day is filled with the other houses cheering and Gryffindor sulking. I visit Harry along with Ron and Hermione but he remains the same. We attend dinner and try to ignore the Slytherin's gloatings. We go to bed glumly, waking up the next day to face much of the same. The last day of the term, Malfoy doesn't fail to pester the Gryffindors. Potions with him and his cronies are almost unbearable, especially with Snape's gloating face. When the last class finishes, there is a deafening cheer throughout the castle. The Weasley twins throw fireworks and charm random objects within the castle to fly around and occasionally spout songs and dance. The three of us relax in the common room then move out to the grounds and relax under a tree. Staring up at the sky in the shade, I find my eyelids dropping slightly, and soon enough, I fall into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

_Meanwhile Dumbledore POV_

After a little persuasion on my behalf, Poppy finally lets me in to see Harry. My heart aches when I see the young boy lying there, unconscious. Guilt tears at me. I put him there. I couldn't help him. I look among the various gifts left at Harry's bedside. I chuckle a little when I think about the toilet seat the Weasley twins tried to send Harry. Their antics remind me of James and Sirius in their days. Those boy's pranks would often cause mayhem and get them into trouble across the castle. Although not as spectacular, the young red-heads try their hardest. Unfortunately, they managed to come across the 'Marauders Map' created many years ago. Since then, they have managed to outsmart even Argus who knows almost every secret passage and shortcut there is. Of course, the boys never managed to find the eighth passage out of the castle, that only Headmasters and Headmistresses know about. There are also several rooms behind portraits and fake doors and walls they didn't come across. I hope to keep them unknown from the Weasley's to avoid further trouble, but only time will tell if they discover them. Harry shifting in his sleep brings me out of my thoughts. He continues shifting, so I move over to his side. He looks like he will wake up. Slowly, he does. His arms twitch a little, and he blinks a few times. I smile down at him to reassure him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," I say.

He stares at me. Then, like a lightbulb goes off in his head, he starts up.

"Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrel! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick –"

I raise my arms slightly in a reassuring gesture.

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," I inform Harry. "Quirrel does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Sir, I – "

"Harry, please relax, or Madame Pomfrey will have me thrown out," I say gently but firmly.

He swallows and looks around. Realization shines in his eyes when he notices the beds and medicine. His eyes eventually fall on the gifts on his bedside.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," I tell him, managing a bright smile. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

It really is a mystery how fast news seems to spread throughout the castle these days.

"I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat," I carry on, smiling a little. "No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madame Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very confiscated it."

"How long have I been here?" Harry asks.

"Three days. Your sister and Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried," I tell him.

"But sir, the Stone –"

"I see you are not to be distracted," I sigh. "Very well."

I clear my throat a little, hesitating slightly, but knowing he needs to understand.

"Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

I remember Isobel mentioning something about Miss Granger originally trying to go send a message to me, thinking I wasn't in the castle.

"I had already arrived back here when I came across Miss Granger," I partially lie to the boy. "No sooner had I reached London that it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

In truth, I had never actually left the castle, although I had intended to for a short while. But I had had my suspicions for a while about the four students and Isobel's behaviour recently made me think they were up to something. When Minerva told me about her discussion with them that afternoon, I made sure to be around just in case. Walking in on their conversation was no accident. However, Harry buys it.

"It was you," he says.

"I feared I might be too late," I say regretfully, truth finally filling my words.

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer –"

I flashback to when I found him, resisting the urge to shiver.

"Not the Stone, boy, you – the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had," my voice shakes a little. "As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Harry repeats. "But your friend – Nicolas Flamel –"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" I ask amused. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

The conversation took place yesterday, and although they were upset, the Flamels knew it had to happen.

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Harry's face changes to one of amazement. I smile.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life ar you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Instead of responding, Harry lay there. I hum an old song, waiting for the boy to say something.

"Sir?" he eventually asks. "I've been thinking…sir – even in the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who-"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry," I interrupt. "Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

I sigh, wishing I didn't have to answer.

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share…not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but it seemed to hurt him, so he stopped.

"Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know if you can tell me..things I want to know the truth about…"

"The truth." I sigh. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should, therefore, be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

I try not to regret my words as I say them.

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

I sigh even deeper than before.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind, for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."

Harry looks like he knows not to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mothers for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

I notice tears forming in his eyes, so I draw my interest to bird on the windowsill to allow him to dry them.

"And the invisibility cloak - do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it," I say, trying to hold the laughter from my voice. "Useful things... your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape-"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him - Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"What ?"

"Yes... " I recall the event. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt... I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace..."

Harry sits in thought, then,

"And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it, otherwise, they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes..."

I realise I'm getting off-topic.

"Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them - but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

I smile and pop the golden-brown bean into his mouth. I choke though when I taste it.

"Alas! Ear wax!"

Harry smiles a little, and I know he'll be alright. I leave the Hospital Wing feeling slightly better than I did upon entering it.

* * *

Isobel POV

It took a bit of convincing, but finally, Madame Pomfrey let us in to see Harry when we heard he was awake. Hermione was ready to fling her arms around him again, held herself back, knowing he's sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to - Dumbledore was so worried-"

"The whole school's talking about it," says Ron. "What really happened?"

Harry tells us everything, and I listen with worry, gasping at certain points.

"So the Stone's gone?" Ron asks. "Flamel's just going to die ?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that - what was it? - 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," says Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

I smile, thinking about the various occasions during our lessons Dumbledore would laugh and joke and dream.

"So what happened to you two?" Harry asks Ron and Hermione.

"Well, I got back all right," Hermione recounts. "I brought Ron round - that took a while - and we just got through the door when we met Dumbledore, McGonagall and Isobel. McGonagall took us here while Dumbledore went through to help you."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" Ron wonders. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione explodes, "if he did - I mean to say that's terrible - you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," Harry says thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could..."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," Ron says proudly. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course - you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you - but the food'll be good."

The sinking feeling of loss drops in my stomach thinking about the Quidditch match, but at that moment, Madame Pomfrey bustles over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT!" she says firmly.

Reluctantly, the three of us leave, letting Harry finish healing. When the feast comes around, we almost worry that Harry won't make it. Finally, though, he enters, a hush following him as he does. Almost immediately though, everyone starts talking again. Harry slips over to us and I glare at the people that I can trying to get a look at him. Fortunately, Dumbledore arrives moments later. The babble dies away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore says cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts..."

I try to ignore the daunting feeling of going back to the Dursleys.

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping breaks out from the Slytherin table. All the Gryffindors are crest-fallen, although we knew that would be the case.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore says. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room goes very still. The Slytherins' smiles fade a little.

"Ahem," starts Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...First - to Mr Ronald Weasley..."

Ron goes purple in the face.

"... for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers deafeningly. I hear Percy telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last, silence comes again.

"Second - to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Hermione buries her face in her arms, and I catch the glint of tears on her face. Gryffindors up and down the table look infinitely happier.

"Third - to Mr Harry Potter... " Dumbledore continues. The room goes deadly quiet. "... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The Gryffindors burst with cheers, and I join in, figuring out we're tied with Slytherin. If only we had gotten even a point more.

Dumbledore raises his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," Dumbledore says, smiling widely. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I, therefore, award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom."

The explosion that occurs from the Gryffindor table would surely be heard from across the country. We stand up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappears under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. The look on Malfoy's face almost makes me feel sorry for Slytherin.

"Which means," Dumbledore calls over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He claps his hands. In an instant, the green hangings become scarlet and the silver become gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanishes and a towering Gryffindor lion takes its place. Snape shakes McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. The Head of House tries her best to hide her pride, but anyone who knew her could see her happiness. The night carries on, and I know it will be one I will never forget. The next day, our marks come out. Tot their great surprise, both Harry and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. After congratulating everyone else, I hesitantly open mine as everyone crowds around me. When I see my marks, I can't believe them. Herbology, Potions, History of Magic and Astronomy, I only just got better marks then Ron and Harry, but Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfigurations, I got better than Hermione. Everyone stares at me, then Hermione congratulates me.

"I also knew you were better than me," she says happily.

I blush a little.

"You still did much better at Herbology and Potions and History of Magic. And Astrology," I say, feeling embarrassed.

She just smiles. All too soon, our wardrobes are empty, trunks are packed and we're handed notes which warn us not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," says Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take us down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; we boarded the Hogwarts Express talking and laughing as the countryside becomes greener and tidier; eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as we speed past Muggle towns; pulling off our wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It takes quite a while for all of us to get off the platform. A wizened old guard up by the ticket barrier lett us go through the gate in twos and threes so we don't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," says Ron, "all of you - I'll send you an owl."

"Thanks," Harry says, "We'll need something to look forward to."

I had told them about what Dumbledore had told me, and he had been immensely relieved. He had hugged me, promising things would get better.

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potters!"

"Still famous," says Ron, grinning at us.

"Not where we're going, I promise you," I say.

We pass through the gateway together.

"There they are, Mom, there they are, look!"

It's Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she isn't pointing at Ron.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "And Isobel Potter! Look, Mom! I can see-"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs Weasley smiles down at them.

"Busy year?" she asks.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready, are you?"

Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of us, carrying an owl and a cat in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of us.

"You must be Harry and Isobel's family!" Mrs Weasley says.

"In a manner of speaking," spits Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, we haven't got all day."

He walked away.

We hang back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have - er - a good holiday," says Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, we will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face.

An identical smile forms on my face as I realise what he's thinking.

"They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home," I say. "We're going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer..."

* * *

**I can't believe the first book is over already. Unfortunately, I'm going to take a little break from this story, but I promise I will continue with the Chamber of Secrets and the storyline will change slightly over the next few years and get more interesting and different to the original story. Meanwhile, I'm going to work on another story. It will be called something like Modern or New Generation HP. It's going to be about a whole new load of kids going into Hogwarts, about two or three generations after the trio. The story and kids are very loosely based on the Marauders, so you can hopefully imagine what it's going to be like. I hope you read it, and please leave any reviews you like. Thank you so much for reading this far, and I promise I will continue this story. Also, if you can, please follow my Instagram account. Details are in my bio. Thank you!**


	18. NOTE

**Hey guys! I'm really sorry for anyone who thought this was an actual update, unfortunately, it's not. But that's what I'm about to tell you about. **

**I'm so sorry for the huge wait between this and the last chapter but I promise this story is going to continue. I'm currently working on the next few chapters for this story and I hope to update sometime within the week! **

**Thank you for everyone who's stuck by this story, and as a side note, if you haven't already, you should check out my other story - HP New Generation.**

**Thank you!**


	19. Second Year

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything.**

**I'M BACK WOO! Guys, I'm so so so sorry that I haven't updated in what seems like forever. But like I promised, this story will continue. You might know that I've been working on my other story, HP New Generation, so that unfortunately is my excuse. I am going to try and work on both now, so there isn't a significant wait between updates. **

**Anyway, welcome to Isobel's second year at Hogwarts.**

**CHAMBER OF SECRETS!**

**Chapter 1**

_Isobel's POV_

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast. Vernon had been woken in the early hours of the morning by Hedwig's loud hooting in Harry and I's room.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night–"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy moustache.

I resisted the urge to announce that he very much did.

"I know what'll happen if that owl's let out."

He looked at Petunia, a dark expression on his face.

Harry tried to argue back, but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from Dudley.

"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Petunia, turning misty-eyed. "We must build you up while we've got the chance… I don't like the sound of that school food…"

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smelting's," said Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Petunia gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Vernon jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples. I did my best to stifle a laugh, and I saw amusement on Harry's face, but it disappeared quickly.

"I meant please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean–"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU TWO," thundered Vernon, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE M'WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But I–"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"I just–"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

I watched Harry stare from purple-faced Vernon to pale Petunia, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," said Harry, "all right…"

Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros, and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since we had come home for the summer holidays, Vernon had been treating us like a bomb that might go off at any moment. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have us back for the holidays, it was nothing to how we felt.

We missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomach-ache. We missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, our classes (though perhaps not Snape). We missed the mail arriving by owl and eating banquets in the Great Hall. I missed sleeping in my four-poster bed in the tower dormitory and visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds. We especially missed Quidditch.

All our spell books, our wands, robes, cauldrons, and broomsticks had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Vernon the instant we had come 'home.'

The Dursley's didn't care if we lost our spots on the Quidditch team because we hadn't practised all summer. I tried not to think of the punishments we would get for not having our homework done. Vernon had even padlocked Hedwig inside her cage to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world. Luckily, Amber had escaped in time and would roam around the neighbourhood during the day. At night, the ginger tabby cat would find her way into our room and curl up beside me on my bed.

At Hogwarts, Harry and I were famous, not that we liked it too much, and the wizard school was brilliant. But now the school year was over, we were back with the Dursleys for the summer, being treated like dogs that had rolled in something smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be our twelfth birthday. Of course, our hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given us a real present, let alone a cake – but to ignore it completely…

At that moment, Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Harry and I exchanged a look, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said Vernon.

We went back to our toast. Of course, Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some wealthy builder and his wife were coming to dinner, and Vernon was hoping to get a large order from him (Vernon's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be -?"

"In the lounge," said Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry and me. "And you?"

"We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we're not there," said Harry tonelessly.

"Exactly," said Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen–"

"I'll announce dinner," said Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you'll say–"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Petunia.

"And you?" said Vernon viciously to us.

"We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending we're not there," I repeated dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr Mason… Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs Mason…"

"Perfect… Dudley?"

"How about – 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr Mason, and I wrote about you .'"

This was too much for both Petunia and Harry and I. Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn't see him laughing. I had to cover my mouth to stop a snort.

"And you two?"

I could see Harry fighting to keep his face straight as he emerged.

"We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending we're not there," he said.

"Too right, you will," said Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you two, and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

I couldn't feel too excited about this. I didn't think the Dursleys would like us any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive.

"Right – I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry and me. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."

We left through the back door. It was a brilliant sunny day. We crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and shared a look.

"Happy birthday to us… happy birthday to us…" I sang dully.

No cards, no presents, and we would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. Harry gazed miserably into the hedge. I could see a turmoil of emotions cross his face, and I knew what he was thinking.

We had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, we missed our best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing us at all. Neither of them had written to us all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask us to come and stay.

Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. We hadn't told the Dursleys this; we knew it was only their terror that one of us might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking us in the cupboard under the stairs with our wands and broomsticks.

For the first couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. I would watch in amusement as a look of satisfaction crossed Harry's face. But the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made us feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal – and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten our birthday.

What wouldn't I give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? I'd almost be glad of a sight of Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream.

Not that our whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of the last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in a cold sweat. Several nights in a row I would have to remind him that we were safe and Voldemort was gone…for now.

Just then, Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge – but something had obviously surprised him. Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward us.

"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot in the hedge.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to us.

"Well done," I said. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about our school," said Harry coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry.

Dudley stumbled backwards at once, a look of panic on his fat face. I forced a smirk away.

"You c-can't – Dad told you you're not to do m-magic – he said he'll chuck you out of the house – and you haven't got anywhere else to go – you haven't got any friends to take you–"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus – squiggly wiggly – "

"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"

I grinned at Harry, and he finally looked away from the hedge. Before I could ask what had gotten his attention, Petunia yelled out for us to come inside. The grins slipped from both our face. We paid dearly for the moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Petunia knew Harry hadn't really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave us work to do, with the promise we wouldn't eat again until we'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry cleaned the windows, I washed the car, Harry mowed the lawn, I trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and Harry repainted the garden bench. As the sun blazed overhead, burning the back of my neck. I knew what Harry would be thinking. I was thinking the same thing. He shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing we had been thinking ourselves… maybe we didn't have any friends at Hogwarts.

It was half-past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, I heard Petunia calling us.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

We moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Petunia, pointing to four slices of bread and two lumps of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

We washed our hands and scoffed down our pitiful supper. The moment we had finished, Petunia whisked away our plates. "Upstairs! Hurry!"

As we passed the door to the living room, I caught a glimpse of Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. We had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang, and Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Remember – one sound–"

We crossed to our bedroom on tiptoes, slipped inside, closed the door, and Harry turned to collapse on his bed. The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

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	20. Holidays

**Hi! I'm so sorry for not updating sooner, but I had some personal matters to attend to. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I promise to update soon.**

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**Chapter 2**

I managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. I saw something flicker in Harry's eyes that looked like…recognition?

The creature stared at Harry, who stared right back.

Just then, I heard Dudley's voice from the hall.

"May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. I noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg holes.

"Er – hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice I was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honour it is…"

"Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into the desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage.

The creature then came up to me and repeated the gesture. I tried not to wince as he stared at me like everyone else, but with a hint of…something different.

I wanted to ask, "What are you?" but decided it would be a bit impolite.

So instead, Harry said, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

Harry and I glanced at each other. I pursed my lips, then gestured for him to take the lead on this one.

"Oh – really?" said Harry. "Er – I don't want to be rude or anything, but – this isn't a great time for us to have a house-elf in our bedroom."

Petunias high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir and miss… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…"

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at his bed.

To my horror, the elf burst into tears – very noisy tears.

"S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never … never ever…"

I swore I heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything–"

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard – like an equal–"

Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time, ushered Dobby back onto his bed where Dobby sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. I was glancing at the door every few seconds; sure his wails would have been heard. At last, Dobby managed to control himself and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't – what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed – Hedwig had woken up with an incredibly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage. I tried to shush her, petting her gently through the cage.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…"

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir… Dobby is a house-elf – bound to serve one house and one family forever…"

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, sir, no… Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir–"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments…"

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free… Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir…"

Harry stared, then glanced at me.

"And I thought we had it bad staying here for another four weeks," he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone help you? Can't we?"

Almost at once, I wished Harry hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here–"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…"

Harry, who was looking distinctly red in the face, said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts; that's Isobel, and Hermione, she–"

But he stopped quickly, and I had a suspicion it was because thinking about Hermione was painful.

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named–"

"Voldemort?" said Harry, and I tried not to wince at his senselessness.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My friend Ron–"

He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago… that Harry Potter escaped yet again."

Harry nodded, and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, and Isobel Potter, to warn them, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later… Harry Potter and Isobel Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" I stammered. "But we've got to go back – term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping us going. You don't know what it's like here. We don't belong here. We belong in your world – at Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "You must stay where you is safe. You is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry and Isobel Potter go back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Harry in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" I asked at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall. I winced.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't tell us. I understand. But why are you warning us?" A sudden, look crossed his face like he had thought of something unpleasant. "Hang on – this hasn't got anything to do with Vol- – sorry – with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not – not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir–"

But Dobby's eyes were wide, and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry, however, looked utterly lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

I resisted the urge to smack him over the head as Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing – you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir" – Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper – "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't… powers no decent wizard…"

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized the desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later, I heard Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself onto his bed just as the door handle turned while I kept the closet closed.

"What – the – devil – are – you – doing?" said Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke… One more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, I let Dobby out of the closet.

"See what it's like here?" I said. "See why we've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place we've got – well, I think we've got friends."

"Friends who don't even write?" said Dobby slyly.

"I expect they've just been – wait a minute," I said, frowning. "How do you know our friends haven't been writing to us?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Isobel Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best–"

"Have you been stopping our letters? "

"Dobby has them here, miss," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry and I's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. I could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry and me.

"You mustn't be angry… Dobby hoped… if Harry and Isobel Potter thought their friends had forgotten them… Harry and Isobel Potter might not want to go back to school…"

I could tell Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.

Before Harry or I could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

My mouth dry and my stomach lurching, we sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. We jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room, I heard Vernon saying, "… tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr Mason. She's been dying to hear…"

Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen, and I felt my stomach disappear as I followed him.

Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," croaked Harry. "Please… they'll kill us…"

"You must say you're not going back to school–"

"Dobby… please…"

"Say it, sir–"

"I can't–"

Dobby gave us a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry and Isobel Potter's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.

There were screams from the dining room, and Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry and me, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Petunia's pudding.

At first, it looked as though Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our niece and nephew - very disturbed – meeting strangers upsets them, so we kept them upstairs…") He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised us he would flay us to within an inch of our lives when the Masons had left and handed him a mop and me a rag. Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry and I, still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Vernon might still have been able to make his deal – if it hadn't been for the owl.

Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes. Although afraid for Harry, I was grateful he wasn't towering over me.

"Read it!" Vernon hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go on – read it!"

Harry took it.

"Dear Mr and Ms Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage witches and wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic."

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped, glancing at me.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it… Slipped your minds, I daresay…"

He was bearing down on Harry and now me like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you… I'm locking you up… You're never going back to that school… never… and if you try and magic yourself out – they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry and me back upstairs.

Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on our window. He himself fitted a cat-flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let us out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, we were locked in our room around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and I couldn't see any way out of this situation. Hedwig couldn't send a message out to Dumbledore or McGonagall - or anyone for that matter. If we used any magic, we could be expelled from Hogwarts. I didn't know what we were going to do.

Harry lay on his bed, watching the sun sinking behind the bars while I sat glumly on the desk chair.

Just then the cat-flap rattled, and Petunia's hand appeared, pushing two bowls of canned soup into the room. Harry jumped off his bed and seized them, handing one to me. The soup was stone-cold, but we drank half of it in one gulp. Then Harry crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust.

"It's no good turning your beak up at it – that's all we've got," said Harry grimly.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed. I offered him some on my soup, which he gladly took. I then sat down on my own bed, gazing up the roof.

Supposing we were still alive in another four weeks, what would happen if we didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why we hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let us go?

The room was growing dark, and Amber had already leapt onto my bed. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

I woke up a little later to what sounded like rattling metal.

Harry opened his eyes and sat up. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at us: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside our window.

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**Hope you enjoy, please leave a review. I know most of this is pretty much the same right now, but I promise it will get more interesting once Harry and Isobel get to Hogwarts.**


	21. The Burrow

**Here's the next one!**

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**Chapter 3**

"Ron," breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you -? What the -?"

I moved over next to him to see what was going on. My mouth fell open as the full impact of what I was seeing hit me. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair. Grinning at Harry and me from the front seats were Fred and George.

"All right, Harry?" asked George.

"Isobel?" Fred finished.

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles–"

"It wasn't us – and how did he know?" I say.

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school–"

"You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with–"

"Isobel told you, we didn't – but it'll take too long to explain now – look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked us up and won't let ys come back, and obviously we can't magic ourselves out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell we've done in three days, so–"

"Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us."

"But you can't magic us out either–"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, we're dead," I said as Harry tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

We moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. We ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. I listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedrooms.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to the window.

"Get in," Ron said.

"But all our Hogwarts stuff – our wands – our broomsticks–" Harry said.

"Where is it?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and we can't get out of this room–"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, you two."

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into our room. You had to hand it to them, I thought as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So – we'll get your trunks – you two grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair – it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

We dashed around our room, collecting our things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then Harry went to help Fred and George heave our trunks up the stairs while I searched for Amber who had leapt off my bed when the bars were being pulled off.

At last, panting, Fred, George and Harry carried our trunks through our room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

I hear Vernon cough as I get Hedwig's cage.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push–"

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill, Hedwig screeched as he accidentally kicked her cage. Immediately, Vernon's voice thundered.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

"Hurry up!" I hiss, thrusting Hedwig into Harry's hands and climbing onto the chest of drawers. Just as I reached the windowsill, the door to Harry and I's room crashed open and Vernon stood in the doorway, an angry look on his face. Then, he lunged for me and I couldn't pull my ankle away in time.

Ron, Harry, Fred, and George seized my arms and pulled as hard as they could.

"Petunia!" roared Vernon. "They're getting away! THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!"

But the boys gave a gigantic tug and my leg slid out of Vernon's grasp – I was in the car – I'd slammed the door shut–

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

I couldn't believe it – we were free. Harry and I grinned at each other before Harry rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of the window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

We roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear.

"Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

"So – what's the story?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"

Harry and I told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given us and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when we finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

"What, you think he was lying to us?" I asked.

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way – house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry, Ron and I together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me and Isobel."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" I said.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry and I, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung – Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle."

I had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise me at all. Malfoy made Dudley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy…

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf…" said Harry.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said Fred.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house…"

Harry and I were silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; I could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry and I from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had we been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first–"

"Who's Errol?" I asked.

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes–"

"Who?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room… I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge… You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, and I could guess the answer.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The what?" Harry asked.

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare – Dad was working overtime for weeks."

"What happened?" I asked.

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic – it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office – and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up–"

"But your dad – this car–" Harry said.

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes… Just as well, it's getting light…"

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower, and I saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, we hit the ground.

We had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry and I looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron.

"It's wonderful ," said Harry happily, and I nodded, thinking of Privet Drive.

We got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, Mum, look who turned up in the night! And she'll be all pleased to see Harry and Isobel and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, you two, I sleep at the – at the top–"

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. We wheeled around.

Mrs Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah," said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs Weasley came to a halt in front of us, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"So," she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs Weasley in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to–"

All three of Mrs Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone – could have crashed – out of my mind with worry – did you care? – never, as long as I've lived – you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job–"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry and I. We backed away.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear, and you too, Isobel," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house and Harry and I, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry and I sat down, looking around. We had never been in a wizard house before.

The clock on the wall opposite us had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens , and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts – It's Magic! And unless my ears were deceiving me, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."

"I don't blame you, dears," she assured Harry and I, tipping eight or nine sausages onto our plates. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now adding three fried eggs to our plates) "flying an illegal car halfway across the country – anyone could have seen you–"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs Weasley snapped.

"They were starving them, Mum!" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry and bread and buttering it for us.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry and I. "My sister. She's been talking about you two all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word.

Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and–"

"You will not," snapped Mrs Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again–"

"Oh, Mum–"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed, dears," she added to Harry and I. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car–"

But Harry, who probably felt as awake as me, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've never seen a de-gnoming–"

"Me too –"

"That's very sweet of you, dears, but it's dull work," said Mrs Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject–"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden–"

I looked at the cover of Mrs Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who I supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs Weasley beamed down at us.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book…"

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry and I behind them. The garden was large, and in my eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it – there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting – but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods…"

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said.

He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry and I's faces, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them - you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

I learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. Harry decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off – until–

"Wow, Harry – that must've been fifty feet…"

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here… Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny…"

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

We hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned…"

Mr Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness…"

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it… Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking – they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face… But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe–"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."

Mr Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if – er – he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth… There's a loophole in the law, you'll find… As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't–"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry and Isobel arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

"Harry and Isobel?" said Mr Weasley blankly. "Who?"

He looked around, saw Harry and I, and jumped.

"Good lord, is it Harry and Isobel Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about–"

"Your sons flew that car to their house and back last night!" shouted Mrs Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I – I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs Weasley's eyes, "that – that was very wrong, boys – very wrong indeed…"

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry and I as Mrs Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. I just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at us before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally–"

Then he knocked on her door and Ginny hesitantly opened it.

"Ginny, Isobel's going to have to sleep in your room," Ron told her.

Ginny peered around the door at me and I smiled, giving her a small wave. Ginny nodded and told me just to knock when I wanted to come in. I thanked her as she shut the door.

We climbed two more flights until we reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.

We stepped in. Ron and I had to duck and Harry's head almost touching the sloping ceiling. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then I realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" asked Harry.

"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below I could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge. Then we turned to look at Ron, who was watching us almost nervously, as though waiting for our opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning…"

But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever been in."

I nodded, matching his grin.

Ron's ears went pink.

* * *

**Well, I hope you enjoyed it :) One more chapter before Hogwarts!**


	22. Diagon Alley

**Disclaimer / I don't own anything**

**Chapter 4**

After that, I went downstairs and knocked quietly on Ginny's door. About a second later she opened it and nervously let me in. Mrs Weasley must have been busy while we were de-gnoming the garden, as there was a mattress on the floor next to Ginny's bed. Her walls were pink and there were several posters hung up around her room, but it was very different from Ron's room. Ginny watched nervously as I looked around, taking everything in. I noticed a window in front of her desk and saw that it looked out onto an orchard.

Then I turned back to her and grinned.

"This is awesome."

She smiled although I could see she was still nervous.

"I'm Isobel," I say, even though she obviously knows who I am.

"Ginny," she offered.

I sat down on the mattress and she did likewise on her bed.

"So when are you going to Hogwarts?" I ask, attempting to make conversation.

"This year," Ginny replied. "My Hogwarts letter's gonna get here in six days!" she announced.

I smiled at her obvious enthusiasm; glad she was finally warming up to me.

"Yeah? What house do you reckon you'll be in?"

"Gryffindor," she said immediately. "Just like Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie and Fred and George."

"But not Percy and Ron?" I laughed.

She turned her nose up and I laughed harder.

"What house are you in?" she asked me.

"Uh, I'm not really in one. It's a bit odd I suppose, but I'm in Gravlepin."

She looked at me in confusion.

"What's that?"

"A mix of the houses. The Sorting Hat couldn't decide where to put me, so it put me in all of them."

"What's the Sorting Hat?" she asked.

I suddenly remembered that first years didn't know how they would be sorted. I contemplated telling her but thought it was best not to.

"You'll see."

She shrugged.

"But I thought you were in Gryffindor? Ron said you always hung out with him and Harry."

She blushed slightly upon mentioning Harry's name and I tried to hide a small smile.

"He was right, I do. And Hermione, she's our other best friend. But technically I'm allowed to hang out wherever I want. I just chose to stay with them most of the time because they're my friends."

"But what about your friends in the other houses?"

"I don't really have any," I say.

"You should. If you were put in all the houses you should make friends with them because they'll also be like you."

I thought about Malfoy and his lot and shuddered a little.

"I suppose. But not all of them will be like me. Some of them aren't very nice."

We spent the rest of the day talking and sharing stories. It was nice to talk to another girl. Hermione was awesome and I loved her, but sometimes she was a bit too much. Ginny was really relaxed and funny, and despite being a year younger than me, I found myself instantly liking her.

Life at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, "Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. What we found most unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody there seemed to like us.

Mrs Weasley fussed over the state of our socks and tried to force us to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr Weasley liked Harry and me to sit next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard us with questions about life with Muggles, asking us to explain how things like plugs and the postal service worked.

"Fascinating." he would say as Harry talked him through using a telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting along without magic."

We heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after we had arrived at the Burrow. I wished Ginny a Happy Birthday as we went downstairs. a little later, Harry and Ron came down. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. I shook my head a little, grinning as Harry pretended not to notice. He sat down and took the toast Mrs Weasley offered him.

"Letters from school," said Mr Weasley, passing all of us kids identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. "Dumbledore already knows you're here, Harry and Isobel – doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too," he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pyjamas.

For a few minutes, there was silence as we all read our letters. We were told to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books we'd need for the coming year.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

43 Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at mine.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he said. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan – bet it's a witch."

At this point, Fred caught Mrs Weasley's eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive…"

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately, no one saw this except Harry and me because just then Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.

"Morning, all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting, grey feather duster – at least, that was what I thought it was, until I saw that it was breathing.

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. "Finally – he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you two from the Dursleys."

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again, so Ron lay him on the draining board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." Then he ripped open Hermione's letter and read it out loud:

"Dear Ron, and Harry and Isobel if you're there,

"I hope everything went all right and that Harry and Isobel are okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get them out, Ron, because that would get Harry and Isobel into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if they're all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might finish your one-off.

"I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course'- How can she be?" said Ron in horror. "We're on vacation! – and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?

"Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.'"

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. I was tempted to follow them, but Ginny wasn't allowed so I decided to stick around with her.

"I normally steal their brooms, you know," she told me as we headed upstairs. "I'll go out and fly around on them when no one's paying attention. They're all so protective of me, but I know I want to play Quidditch next year."

I grin.

"Well, once you're on the team, you can show them all up. What position do you like to play?"

"Chaser," she answered immediately. "I do also like Seeker, but I figure if I'm in Gryffindor, there's no way I could play that position anyway."

I don't say anything, knowing Harry would most likely be better than her, but not wanting to dampen her spirits.

"I'm a Chaser," I say instead. "We could play together sometime."

"Really?"

I nod, smiling.

Mrs Weasley woke us all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, we pulled on our coats and Mrs Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some more today… Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"

And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him. His nervous gaze flicked over mine.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.

"He's never travelled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry, Harry, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?"

"We went on the Underground–"

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there escapators? How exactly–"

"Not now, Arthur," said Mrs Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before–"

"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first."

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs Weasley told Harry as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the right grate…"

"The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight, too.

I was listening as well, feeling a little put off.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly–"

"He'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder too.

"But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and uncle?"

"They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that–"

"Well… all right… you go after Arthur," said Mrs Weasley. "Now, when you get into the fire, say where you're going."

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," said Mrs Weasley. "The soot–"

"Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace–"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George."

Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

The flames took Harry out of sight. I watched anxiously but knew we wouldn't know if he was alright until we followed. I stepped up next and recalled everything the Weasley's had told Harry.

"Diagon Alley," I say, ignoring the powder.

It felt as though I was being sucked down a giant drain. I was spinning very fast – the roaring in my ears was deafening. I tucked my elbows in and tried to stay still. I closed my eyes to keep the soot out. My hair was flying around my face and I felt myself fly by several cold spots. Eventually, one of them felt right, and I opened my eyes slightly to see something red in my vision. Immediately, the spinning stopped, and I fell out of the fireplace. Luckily, Fred and George caught me and steadied me. I brushed soot off myself and glanced around.

"Where's Harry?" I ask.

"We thought he was coming before you?" George answered.

"He did," I say.

Then I get a sinking feeling.

"Oh no. He must have gone to the wrong grate. Oh, Harry."

The twins exchanged a glance then smiled a little.

"Don't worry Isobel, I'm sure he hasn't gone too far. We'll wait for the others to come through then we'll go find him," Fred said.

I nodded, swallowing the bad feeling. One by one, the Weasley's came through, each of them asking where Harry was. Mrs Weasley was the last to come through, and when she heard Harry was missing she immediately ushered us out of the shop we had appeared in and out into Diagon Alley.

We ran down the streets, looking for Harry. I wished I was back at Hogwarts where the castle could lead me straight to him, but unfortunately, there was nothing like that now.

We spent ages racing around Diagon Alley until I eventually spotted a looming figure a ways away.

"Hagrid," I cried, recognising the half-giant.

I pulled ahead of the others, sure that Hagrid, with his added height would make it easier to find Harry. Or Harry to find us.

I waved my arms, ignoring the looks from passer-by's, trying to get Hagrid's attention. Finally, he spotted me and grinned. I saw him look down and his mouth move.

I frowned, looking around him. Then I spotted two figures standing on the steps of Gringotts's bank.

"Harry," I ran up to him, wrapping him in a hug. "Where were you?"

I pulled away, noticing his glasses were snapped and he had dirt and soot all over him. Just then, the Weasley males caught up to us, and I greeted Hermione quickly, who I recognised was the second figure with Hagrid.

"Harry," Mr Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far…" He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic – she's coming now–"

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," answered Hagrid grimly.

"Excellent!" said Fred and George together.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.

I spared Harry a dark look as Mrs Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.

"Oh, Harry – oh, my dear – you could have been anywhere–"

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot on him and his clothes. Mr Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" he grinned at us, gave me a wink, then strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry said to Ron, Hermione and me as we climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his father."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr Weasley sharply behind us.

"No, he was selling–"

"So he's worried," said Mr Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something …"

"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs Weasley sharply as we were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trouble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew–"

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

"But you're Muggles!" said Mr Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry and I were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels. The journey was a little unsettling, but I felt terrible when we arrived and the Weasley vault was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. I could tell Harry felt as bad as I did when we reached our vault. We tried to block the contents from view as we hastily shoved handfuls of coins into two leather bags. I didn't miss several wistful glances though as we moved aside for the vault to be shut.

Back outside on the marble steps, we all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a second-hand robe shop. Mr Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks," said Mrs Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. Our bags of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in our pockets was clamouring to be spent, so we bought four large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which we slurped happily as we wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows.

Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged us off to buy ink and parchment next door.

In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, we met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains we found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.

"A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating…"

"Go away," Percy snapped.

"Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out… He wants to be Minister of Magic…" Ron told us in an undertone as we left Percy to it.

An hour later, we headed for Flourish and Blotts. We were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As we approached it, we saw a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies… Don't push, there… mind the books, now…"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione and I squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. We each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr and Mrs Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute…"

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet–"

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron – and then he saw Harry and then me. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry and Isobel Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry and I's arms, and pulled us to the front. The crowd burst into applause. I scowled as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Potter's," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, the three of us are worth the front page."

When he finally let go of our arms, I could hardly feel my limb. We tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around both of our shoulders and clamped us tightly to his side. I resisted the urge to elbow him in the gut to escape.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harry and Isobel here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge -" The crowd applauded again. "They had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving us a little shake that made my hair fall over my eyes, "that they would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. They and their schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harry and I found ourselves being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, we managed to make our way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own–"

I made a mental note to give my own to Ron.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potters?" a voice I had no trouble recognizing suddenly said. I felt Harry straighten himself up and we found ourselves face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

"Famous Harry and Isobel Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Leave them alone, they didn't want all that!" said Ginny.

It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. I was proud of her as she glared at Malfoy.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy, smirking at Harry.

Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry and Isobel here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket. I put my own books in it then took the cauldron from Ginny, who was struggling from the weight of it.

"Ron!" said Mr Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

"Lucius," said Mr Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr Malfoy. "All those raids… I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron that I was holding and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

"Obviously not," Mr Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr and Mrs Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower."

There was a thud of metal as I almost dropped Ginny's cauldron; Mr Weasley had thrown himself at Mr Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all our heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backwards, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please – please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all–

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up–"

Hagrid was wading toward us through the sea of books. In an instant, he had pulled Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy apart. Mr Weasley had a cut lip and Mr Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you -"

Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that – no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter – bad blood, that's what it is – come on now – let's get outta here."

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop us from leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. We hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs Weasley beside herself with fury.

"A fine example to set for your children… brawling in public… what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought–"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report – said it was all publicity–"

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where we would be travelling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. We said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs Weasley's face.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. I prayed he would make it back safely this time. Lord knows where he would end up if he didn't reach the Burrow.


	23. Kings Cross

**Guys, I'm so sorry for not updating sooner I promise I'll try to get the next chapter up quickly! **

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**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 5**

The end of the summer vacation came too quickly for my liking. I was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but our month at the Burrow had been the happiest of our lives. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when I thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome we could expect next time we turned up on Privet Drive.

On our last evening, Mrs Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry and I's favourite things, ending with a mouth-watering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

It took a long while to get started the next morning. We were up at dawn, but somehow we still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

I couldn't see how nine people, six large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. That's when I remembered the special features that Mr Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry and me as he opened the trunk and showed us how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily.

When at last we were all in the car, Mrs Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" She, Ginny and I got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr Weasley started up the engine and we trundled out of the yard. I was just thinking about how I would miss the Burrow when we were back. George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, we skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. We had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, we were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

"Molly, dear–"

"No, Arthur –"

"No one would see – this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed – that'd get us up in the air – then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser–"

"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight–"

We reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for our trunks and we all hurried into the station.

"Percy first," said Mrs Weasley when we reached the barrier, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed we had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and Isobel, you two come right after us," Mrs Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny and my hands and setting off. In the blink of an eye, we were gone.

We hurried over to the train and I glanced around for Harry and Ron. Suddenly, I realised they weren't following us.

"Mrs Weasley!" I cried out.

She glanced down at me in surprise.

"What is it dear?" she asked worriedly.

"Harry and Ron," I gestured with my free hand. "They haven't come through the barrier yet!"

She glanced up at the clock and I followed her gaze. Ten seconds until the barrier would close. I watched it tick down, but the boys still didn't appear. By now the rest of the Weasley's had caught on and were watching anxiously.

"Oh Arthur, what are we going to do?" Mrs Weasley cried.

Mr Weasley was pale and obviously worried but he gave her a small smile.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, dear. Harry has his owl, doesn't he?" he looked at me. "They can send a message ahead to Hogwarts. Once these lot are off we can find them and stay until the school comes to collect them."

Mrs Weasley nodded, but she still looked worried. Understandably, I was the same. I prayed they would be sensible and go wait by the car and not get into any trouble.

"Oh Harry," I cursed under my breath. "Please be safe."

Just then the train let out a whistle and we were reminded to get on the train. Mr and Mrs Weasley ushered us on, waving goodbye and wishing Ginny good luck. The train started moving almost immediately.

With a final look at the barrier, I went off to find Hermione. Before I left, Ginny called me back.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked. "I don't really know anyone."

I gave her a smile.

"Of course, come on."

We found Hermione, told her what had happened, and then found a compartment to sit in. Hermione and Ginny quickly became acquainted and we made small talk for a bit. Not long after though, a young blonde girl knocked on our compartment door. Ginny, who was closest to the door, opened it. The girl walked in, looking at us with a dreamy sort of expression.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was high and sounded as dreamy as her expression. "I'm Luna Lovegood. Would you mind if I sat with you? It's just that I'm a first-year and I don't have any friends."

Ginny smiled at her and gestured her in.

"I'm a first-year as well," she said, holding her hand out. "Ginny Weasley."

"It's nice to meet you," Luna smiled at her.

Hermione and I and introduced ourselves and then the four of us settled down. Despite the chatter, my thoughts turned to Harry and Ron. I desperately hoped they were safe and that I would see them at the feast. I didn't know why they hadn't come through, so I filed that question away for later.

The train ride went by quickly enough, and soon we were on solid ground. Ginny and Luna and the rest of the first-years were called over to Hagrid. I gave Ginny a quick hug and a 'good luck' before Hermione and I went off. We followed the rest of the students to a bunch of carriages. As we travelled by boat last time, we hadn't used them before. The carriages appeared to be drawn by magic, so Hermione and I quickly got in the nearest empty one.

The trip to the school was quick and once again we followed the rest of the students as they entered the Great Hall for the first-year Sorting Ceremony.

The whole time I was glancing around, trying to find Ron and Harry. Fred and George seemed unconcerned, but Percy was a little worried. He brushed it off though as he assumed his Prefect duties. Turning to Hermione, I saw a similarly anxious expression on her face.

"I'm sure they're just a little late," she said. Whether she was assuring me or herself I wasn't sure. "It would have taken a bit for Hedwig to reach the castle so we mighten even see them until the feast is over."

I nodded, slightly reassured. When we entered the Great Hall we took a seat at the Gryffindor table and chatted for a little. Looking up at the Staff table, I saw the newest addition, Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in aquamarine robes. I spotted Hagrid and a few others and saw Dumbledore sitting in the middle of the table, two empty seats beside him. I knew one of them was McGonagall's, and a quick survey told me the other was Snape's. I frowned, wondering where he was.

My thoughts were quickly dismissed as Professor McGonagall entered the Great Hall with the first-years in tow. Spotting Ginny and Luna among them, I gave them both a big smile as McGonagall announced what would happen. I listened to the Sorting Hat's song, and then the Sorting started. I watched as the students were called out and the Hat was placed on their hands. None of them took too long like I had. Of course, no one was placed any differently to normal either. I could tell Ginny was a little upset to see Luna join Ravenclaw, but it disappeared quickly.

When she was called she looked a little nervous, but she masked it well. McGonagall placed the Hat on her head. A few moments later, it called out,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I cheered loudly as she joined the table beside her fellow first-years. She met my eyes and grinned wildly. Down the table a little, Fred and George were clapping and congratulating her.

A few students later the Sorting ended, and the feast began. I dug in, feeling particularly hungry. I had almost forgotten about Harry and Ron, but not five minutes later the doors opened with a loud bang. Everyone looked towards the source and I looked over anxiously. I was disappointed to see Snape. But my interest was quickly peaked when I saw his expression.

Normally he seemed bored and uninterested, a typical sneer resting on his face, but right now, his lips were curled, and his eyes narrowed angrily as he approached the Staff table. He walked right up to the centre and stopped in front of McGonagall and Dumbledore. A moment later, surprise crossed both their faces and then McGonagall's turned angry while Dumbledore seemed confused.

Snape thrust something onto the table, and I could just see that it seemed to be some sort of Newspaper. The two professors spent a moment studying it before McGonagall said something to Dumbledore and then stood up, following Snape out of the Great Hall. Once they had disappeared, all the eyes in the Hall snapped to Dumbledore. He looked momentarily stunned, then his normal cheery expression appeared.

"My apologies for that disturbance," he said. "But it is nothing to concern yourselves with. Continue with your meal."

Slowly, everyone returned to their food and chatter broke out again. I turned to Hermione and saw her expression mirrored mine.

"You don't think something happened to them do you?" I asked worriedly.

She merely gave me a lost look and I felt my shoulders slump. A few minutes later, Dumbledore stood up and exited the Hall without a word. As he passed by, I saw his shoulders were tense and he was frowning slightly.

"We have to get our hands on a copy of whatever Snape showed them," I told Hermione.

She nodded but offered no suggestions. I glanced around, my gaze finally landing on Fred and George. They were whispering quietly to each other and I made a decision. I made my way over to them then asked if they could make it happen. They shared a look then turned to me with identical grins.

"Of course," they said in unison.

I thanked them then returned to Hermione. Not long after, Dumbledore returned with Snape in tow, who had a look of pure venom on his face. McGonagall returned a minute or two later, looking as stern as ever. Dumbledore then proceeded to give a few notices then sent us off. As we exited the Hall, Fred and George came up to us with some newspapers in their hands. Both of them looked shocked and amazed. Wordlessly, they handed two over so Hermione and I could read.

The headline of tonight's issue of the Daily Prophet read: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower… at noon in Norfolk, Mrs Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing… Mr Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police… Six or seven Muggles in all.

When I had finished reading I looked up at the twins.

"You don't think…?"

"Who else would it be?" Fred started.

"Other than our dear brothers," George finished, glancing at me.

With that they swept away, leaving Hermione and I in their wake. Stunned, we slowly made our way up to Gryffindor Tower. As we walked, I caught snippets of conversation. Apparently the rest of the students had heard, and several rumours were now flying around.

As we approached the secret entrance, I suddenly saw two figures standing outside the Fat Lady's portrait. I immediately recognised them, and the two of us hurried towards the boys.

"There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumours – someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car!" Hermione cried.

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"You're not telling me you did fly here?" I asked; incredulous.

"Blimey, you sound like McGonagall, Bel," Harry said.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password."

"It's wattlebird,'" said Hermione offhandedly, "but that's not the point–"

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for the boys to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione and me to scramble in after them.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years–"

"Good for you," said a fifth year I was sure Harry had never spoken to.

Someone was patting him on the back as though he'd just won a marathon; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but I could see one person who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling the boys off. Harry nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy's direction. Ron got the point at once.

"Got to get upstairs – bit tired," he said, and the two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

"Night," Harry called back to Hermione and me.

Hermione was wearing a scowl just like Percy's. I was similarly mad, but also mildly amused and shocked. Percy reached us.

"Please tell me it's not true," he asked desperately.

I shook my head.

"I'm afraid it is."

Percy sighed, still scowling. Without another word he walked off, probably to go tell someone else off to let his anger out.

More people came up to ask for confirmation and we reluctantly gave it. Finally, after the sixth group of people, I snapped and told everyone to shove off. Me and Hermione made our way over to the stairs that lead up to our dormitory. As we did, we passed Ginny, who was sitting on one of the couches and talking to her fellow first-years. She grinned at me and I told them not to stay up too late before we descended the steps.

In our dormitory, Parvati and Lavender were whispering on their beds which they had pushed together, and Fay and Rose were just unpacking their things. Upon seeing us enter, the four girls immediately started asking about Harry and Ron and we reluctantly answered their questions until they started getting ridiculous.

After that, we unpacked our things and then got changed into our pyjamas and climbed under the maroon covers.

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**Again, sorry for not updating sooner! I promise the next one will be up quickly, though!**


	24. Classes

**I'm so sorry this is so late, but there will be more information at the end. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!**

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**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 6**

The next day did not go as well as I'd hoped. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy grey). Hermione and I had ventured out earlier than the boys, and she had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug while I chatted with Neville. When Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, there was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which told us she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Admittedly, I wasn't particularly happy either, but I decided to let it go. Neville, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully.

"Mail's due any minute – I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."

The boys had only just started their porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and grey fell into Hermione's jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers. Meanwhile, a plain barn owl dropped something into my hands. I recognised McGonagall's writing and slipped the note away to read later.

"Errol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

"Oh, no -" Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that – it's that."

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to me, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"She's – she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.

She?

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" – he gulped -"it was horrible."

I looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.

"What's a Howler?" I asked.

But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes–"

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, I knew why. I thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"-STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE–"

Mrs Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swivelling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

"-LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED–"

Upon hearing his name, Harry seemed to try very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making my eardrums throb.

"-ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED – YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you–"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.

Harry pushed his porridge away, and I glanced at him. I could see his inner turmoil. Mr Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all Mr and Mrs Weasley had done for us over the summer…

But we had no time to dwell on the Howler; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. I took mine and saw I had been put with the Gryffindors and that we had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think the boys had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

As we neared the greenhouses, we saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. We had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and I saw the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry flinch a bit.

"Oh, hello there!" Lockhart called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…"

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. We had only ever worked in greenhouse one before – greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. I caught a whiff of damp earth and fertiliser mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. Harry and I were about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.

"Harry! Isobel! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if they're a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

I shifted uncomfortably, wondering why I had been pulled out of class if Lockhart was just going to talk to Harry.

"When I heard – well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."

I scrunched my eyebrows. Judging from the look on Harry's face, he had no idea what Lockhart was talking about either. I was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked—flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry."

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" said Lockhart. "Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me, and you couldn't wait to do it again."

"Oh, no, Professor, see–"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Lockhart reached out and grasped his shoulder. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste – and I blame myself for giving you that because it was bound to go to your head – but see here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! It's all right for him; he's an internationally famous wizard already! But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, and I resisted the urge to smack his hand off of Harry's shoulder. "I know, I know – it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have – but it's a start, Harry, it's a start."

He gave Harry a hearty wink then turned his gaze on me.

"Now, Isobel, Isobel, Isobel," he started, and I gritted my teeth. "I understand that having your twin brother in the spotlight may be stressful, and you might be tempted to want to take the glory for yourself. But at the rate you're going, you don't need to try so hard. Although you're the not the Boy Who Lived – or girl, really, you're famous enough for surviving the presence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Sometimes that's all it takes to win the hearts of the people. Now, having said that, make sure your brother doesn't get too caught up in the fame. It can really get to one's head if you don't handle it well."

He flashed a magnificent smile before striding off.

"Did he seriously just lecture US about not letting fame get to our heads?" I ask incredulously as I stare after his brilliant, flowing teal robes. Harry just stands there; stunned, for a few seconds. Then, he shakes himself out of it.

"Come on; we should get to class," he sighs. He opens the door to the greenhouse, and we slid inside.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the centre of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-coloured ear muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry and I had taken our place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again. He just shook his head at her, and I flashed him a small grin. I made a mental note to read the textbooks in the next few days or so. They had been locked away at the Dursleys, and then I hadn't thought about reading them at the Weasley's. It would make classes much easier if I read them.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," Hermione said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in colour, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to me, and I didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right – earmuffs on."

I snapped my earmuffs over my ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

I let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I were joined at our tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy I very vaguely remembered.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand and then me. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter… And you're Isobel Potter and Hermione Granger – always top in everything" (Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "- and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as we began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and – zap – just fantastic.

"My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…"

After that, we didn't have much chance to talk, but when we did, I made sure to speak with Justin. Our earmuffs were back on, and we needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth.

By the end of the class, everyone was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. We all traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors and I hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Or would've been if I hadn't also had extra Transfiguration help last year. However, Harry was struggling. It was like everything we'd learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. We were supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle, it engulfed him in thick grey smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing; Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Hermione and I managed to transfigure a handful of buttons between ourselves, which McGonagall did seem pleased about. I could tell Harry and Ron were relieved to hear the lunch bell, however. Everyone filed out of the classroom except the four of us, and Ron was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid – useless – thing–"

"Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. "It's your own fault your wand got snapped -'"

We went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was obviously not improved by Hermione showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons we had produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"Why," demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. I scrunched my nose a little upon seeing it, to which Hermione sniffed once before ignoring me.

We finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry, Ron and I stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry suddenly cut off. Looking up, I saw a very small, mousy-haired boy staring at Harry and I as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry and I looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry? Isobel? I'm – I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how Harry you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman; he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of the two of you" – he looked imploringly at Harry and me – "maybe your friend could take it, and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry and Isobel Potter're giving out signed photos!"

"No, we're not," said Harry angrily. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"Jealous?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to start any trouble, or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "If you put another toe out of line –"

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house–"

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut Voyages with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

I started to speak, but was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around Harry and I's shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry, Isobel!"

Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, I saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.

"Come on then, Mr Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A triple portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll all sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signalling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry and I still clasped to his side.

"A word to the wise, Potters," said Lockhart paternally as we entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey – if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourselves up so much…"

Deaf to Harry and I's stammers, Lockhart swept us down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your careers isn't sensible – looks a tad bigheaded, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but" – he gave a little chortle – "I don't think you're quite there yet."

We had reached Lockhart's classroom, and he let Harry and I go at last. We yanked our robes straight and headed for seats at the very back of the class, where we busied ourselves with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of us so that we could avoid looking at the real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry and me.

"You could've fried an egg on your faces," said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry. I stifled a chuckle although I knew the last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club."

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for us to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books – well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in–"

When he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes – start – now!"

I looked down at my paper and read:

1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

What kind of questions were these? I hadn't thought Lockhart could get any more up himself, but somehow, he managed. Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!"

He gave us another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Harry and I just exchanged disgusted looks. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl! In fact" – he flipped her paper over – "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so – to business–"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of myself, I leaned around my pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front-row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Seamus apparently couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not – they're not very – dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the wastebasket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks, and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now – round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang, and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione and I who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you four to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past us and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione, immobilising two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

"Hands-on?" said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing–"

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books – look at all those amazing things he's done–"

"He says he's done," Ron muttered, and I had to agree with him.

After we had finally managed to get out of the door, we moved into the courtyard to enjoy a few hours of downtime before dinner and having to do homework. I managed to get a chance to read McGonagall's letter while the boys were talking, and Hermione was reading. I figured they were too distracted to notice, so I discreetly pulled it out.

_Isobel,_

_I hope your holidays weren't too bad. I know you and Harry spent some time with the Weasleys (although your method of getting there was unseemly) so I hope that made them more enjoyable. Professor Dumbledore and I would like to talk with you if it's alright with you. If so, come to Professor Dumbledore's office – Sherbet Lemon - after dinner tonight, will you?_

_Professor McGonagall_

I read it once more before folding it back into my robes with a smile. After that, the four of us chatted for a bit until it was dinner time. I greedily ate my Shepherd's Pie before telling the other three I was going to the Library and probably wouldn't be back until late. I had told them last year I had an arrangement with Madame Pince which Hermione thankfully hadn't questioned me about, for which I was grateful. As I approached the stone gargoyles, I said the password, and they sprung apart for me. I wasn't sure if McGonagall or Dumbledore were there yet, but I figured they wouldn't mind.

I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I tried the handle, and it was open, so I decided to slip in. As always, I was taken back by the vast amount of odd objects and instruments throughout the room. Something draws me to the perch Dumbledore's phoenix – Fawkes – occupied. With brilliant bright feathers and a golden beak, he was extremely magnificent. Hesitantly, I reached out, wondering if Fawkes would nip my hand off for trying to touch him. He didn't, however, so I took that as an invitation. I slowly reached forward and rested my hand on his crimson plumage, stroking him with a smile. A soft trill left his throat, and I felt the effects of the song soothing my body and mind. I hadn't even realised I was tense.

"He likes you."

I startle slightly, pulling my hand away from Fawkes and turning around to see a softly smiling Dumbledore.

"Consider yourself honoured," he continues. "Fawkes doesn't let just anyone pet him."

I glance at the phoenix and smile. Dumbledore gestures for me to sit opposite him at his desk.

"Minerva will be here shortly," he informs me.

I nod, helping myself to the lemon drops he offers me. I hadn't liked them at first, but I discovered they were now one of my favourite candies. About a minute later, McGonagall enters the room and takes the seat next to Dumbledore with a rare smile.

"Good evening Isobel," she greets me.

"Evening Professor," I can't help but smile back.

"How have you been?" she asks with a touch of worry.

"The Weasley's are amazing!" I grin. "They've treated Harry and me like their own, and they've more than looked after us. The Burrow is awesome!"

"I'm glad," Dumbledore smiles, but it drops a moment later. "However, I think Minerva was asking about before the Weasley's…collected you."

My smile drops.

"It was alright," I answer honestly. "They weren't friendly, by any means. But they weren't particularly hostile either. Well, until…"

"Until what?" Dumbledore probes.

"Until a house-elf popped into Harry and I's room," I sigh.

"A house-elf?" McGonagall repeats in surprise.

I nod.

"He said his name was Dobby," I say, deciding that I should tell them what he warned us about. "He said he was there to warn us. He didn't want us to come back to Hogwarts," I pause to gauge their reactions.

Both of their eyebrows raise but Dumbledore motions for me to continue.

"He said if we came, we would be in mortal danger. He said that there was a plot he had known about for months, to make terrible things happen here. Harry and I asked him what it was and who was planning it, but he couldn't tell us. He kept hitting himself. And then he tried to convince us to say we wouldn't come back, but of course, we didn't, so he ran out of the room, and made a cake fall onto a visitor who was over. That's why we got the note about under-age magic, but it was really Dobby. After that, Vernon locked us in our room and barred our windows, so we had no way of getting out or sending a message."

When I finish, McGonagall and Dumbledore exchange a worried glance.

"Did this house-elf give you any hints about this plot for Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asks gently.

I shake my head.

"We asked if it had something to do with Voldemort. He said no, but he seemed like he was trying to give us a hint. Vernon interrupted before we could figure anything else out though."

The two professors have a silent conversation I had long since grown accustomed to. A few minutes pass before either of them speaks again.

"Well, it seems as if we might have yet another cautious year ahead of us," Dumbledore announces. "Thank you for telling us this Isobel."

"Now, onto another matter," McGonagall says.

"Ah, yes. I know this is a bit of an unusual request, but do you wear the locket you got for Christmas?" Dumbledore asks.

I frown before nodding, my hand reaching up to clasp it.

"Would you mind if I had a look at it?" he asks.

Any other person I probably would have said no to, but I trusted Dumbledore. I unclasped the necklace and placed it in his outstretched hand. He grasped it and turned it over in his hands before muttering a few words and waving his hand over it. When he handed it back to me, I could feel the lingering of his magic on it. I clasp it back around my neck while asking what he did.

"I put a few spells on it that will allow you to contact myself or Minerva if something like that happens again. It will send a simple message to us with your location so we can find you. All you have to do is clasp your locket and think, very clearly, of either of our names. I'm sorry I didn't do this before but rest assured, it is there if you ever need help again."

I stare up at him in amazement, then give both him and McGonagall a grateful smile.

"Thank you," I say honestly, feeling quite touched.

"It's nothing," McGonagall waves me off. "It will make both of us sleep easier to know that you can contact us should something go wrong."

A few moments of silence pass before Dumbledore speaks up.

"Onto another matter. Are you happy with the timetable you've been given? If not, we can change it."

"No, it's fine, thank you. I'm happy to stay with the Gryffindors."

"Wonderful. That just leaves the matter of your lessons with us," Dumbledore says. "We both feel they have been beneficial to you, but I believe there is still much for you to learn, considering the things we discovered at the end of the term."

I nod, casting my mind back to our last meeting where we had learned I could feel the magic of Hogwarts, and they had told me about the Deathly Hallows.

"I don't think they need to be as frequent as last year, but I do want to stress the importance of them."

"That's okay, I understand. And I'm willing. When will our first lesson be?" I ask.

"Excellent. What do you think, Minerva? When are you free?"

"I believe Thursday afternoon works for me."

They look at me for confirmation, and I nod.

"Very well. I think that concludes our meeting," Dumbledore announces with a twinkling smile.

I get up, and so do they, and give them a wide smile.

"Thank you," I say. "I'm looking forward to Thursday."

They both give me bright smiles as I bid goodbye and slip through the door back to Gryffindor Tower. Luckily no one questions why I was out or where I was, and I quickly reach my dormitory where I change into my pyjamas and fall into bed.

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**Hey guys! I'm sorry for not updating sooner! I've been so caught up in my other story that I haven't had a chance to get a new chapter finished. I promise now, though that this story has my priority. I'm hoping to get my next chapter out within the week. Thank you so much for reading, and please leave a review!**


	25. The Mysterious Voice

**Hey guys, sorry the update wasn't sooner, but I hope you enjoy this. **

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**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 7**

Harry and I spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever we saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid though was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorised our schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry? Isobel?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry or I sounded when we said it.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey, preferring to stay by my side, and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, I was quite glad to reach the weekend. The four of us were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. I was shaken awake several hours earlier than I would have liked by Angelina Johnson, my fellow Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Whassamatter?" I asked groggily.

"Quidditch practise!" said Johnson tiredly. "Come on!"

I squinted out the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that I was awake, I couldn't understand how I could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Angelina," I groaned. "It's the crack of dawn."

"You don't think I know that?" Johnson grumbled. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," she said. "Wood said none of the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year–"

Yawning and shivering slightly, I climbed out of bed and tried to find my Quidditch robes.

"Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes," Angelina gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving.

When I'd found my scarlet team robes and pulled on my cloak for warmth, I scribbled a note to Hermione explaining where I'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, my Nimbus Two Thousand on my shoulder. I saw Harry yawning next to the portrait hole and went to greet him when there was a clatter behind me, and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Isobel! Look what I've got here, both of you! I've had it developed. I wanted to show you–"

Harry and I looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under our noses.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm I recognised as Harry's. His photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view while I did the same on the other side. As we watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.

"No," said Harry flatly, and I glared at him as he glanced around. "Sorry, Colin, we're in a hurry – Quidditch practice–"

"Sorry, Colin," I said as we climbed through the portrait hole.

"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!"

Colin scrambled through the hole after me.

"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.

"You were the youngest House players in a hundred years, weren't you? And Isobel Professor McGonagall convinced you to play for Gryffindor, didn't she? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside us. "You two must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Are those your own brooms? Are they the best one there is?"

It was like having an extremely talkative shadow, and I could tell Harry was getting annoyed, but I just smirked. I didn't mind Colin too much. He was annoying sometimes, sure, but tolerable.

"I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"

"Yes," said Harry heavily, glancing over at me. "They're called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters."

"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.

"Well, the Quaffle – that's the biggish red one – is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers – that's Isobel, and another two - on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goalposts at the end of the pitch – they're three long poles with hoops on the end."

"And the fourth ball–"

"- is the Golden Snitch," said Harry, "and it's very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do because a game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points."

"And you're the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin in awe.

"Yes," said Harry as we left the castle and started across the dew-drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. He guards the goalposts. That's it, really."

But Colin didn't stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field as I watched in amusement, and we only shook him off when we reached the changing rooms; Colin called after us in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat!" and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to Katie and Angelina, who were yawning side by side opposite them.

"There you are, Harry, Isobel, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…"

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different coloured inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred's head drooped right onto Angelina's shoulder, and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. I had to blink to keep my eyes open as Wood droned on and on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking me out of my doze. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="color: black;"Wood wasn't pleased.

"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at us all. "We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately – owing to circumstances beyond our control–"

I saw Harry shift in his seat and felt similarly. Harry had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning I had stepped in and consequently we had suffered our worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Our last defeat was clearly still torturing him.

"So this year, we train harder than ever before… Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, the team followed.

We had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As we walked onto the field, I saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry, while I looked jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. I joined him moments later. The cool morning air whipped my face, waking me far more effectively than Wood's long talk. I tied my long hair back and brushed a few loose strands out of my face. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. I soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George and Harry.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as we hurtled around the corner.

I looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Isobel! Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" said Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

"Fanboy," I told the twins before speeding up as well.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward us. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"He's in Gryffindor," I said quickly.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George and I followed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up, especially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker'."

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" – he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives -" sweeps the board with them."

None of our team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion."

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

I knew at once that Malfoy had said something bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Katie shrieked, "How dare you!" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoys face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium, and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch, and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. We gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Isobel? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave, and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" I said angrily.

Harry and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium while I raced ahead toward the edge of the forest. When Hagrid's house came into view, I ran straight up to it, hand poised to knock when I suddenly heard familiar voices. I recognised Lockhart talking merrily while Hagrid rumbled about something. I dashed behind a bush just as the front door opened, gesturing for the other three to do the same as they came into sight./

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one – I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!" And he strode away toward the castle.

Once he was out of view, I knocked on Hagrid's door. He appeared at once, looking grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw me.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me – come in, come in – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again–"

I helped Harry and Hermione get Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand–"

Hagrid was bustling around, making us tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticise a Hogwarts teacher, and I looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job–"

"He was the on'y man for the job," said Hagrid, offering us a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something – it must've been really bad because everyone went wild," Harry said.

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her Mudblood, Hagrid–"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course–"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom – he's pure-blood, and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles, we'd've died out."

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

I would have pointed out that trouble didn't come much worse than having slugs pouring out of your mouth, but I couldn't; Hagrid's treacle fudge had cemented my jaws together.

"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Isobel. Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Furious, I wrenched my teeth apart.

"We have not been giving out signed photos," Harry said hotly, however, before I could get a word in. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around–"

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face-first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," I said as Harry sat up, rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as Harry, Hermione and I finished the last of our tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins I had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast… should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" asked Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them – you know – a bit o' help–"

I noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. I had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, I had the strong impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but we had never found out why – any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed–"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. I chuckled, and Ron snorted with laughter, and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime, and as Harry and I had only had one bit of treacle fudge since dawn, we were keen to go back to school to eat. We said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

We had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter – Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking toward Harry and Ron, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley – elbow grease."

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.

"Oh n- Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione and I behind them, wearing well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expressions. Both Harry and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal.

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail… he'll be a nightmare…"

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, the boys were bidding us goodbye. Hermione and I stayed in the Common Room, doing some homework. We waited a while for the boys, but eventually decided they wouldn't be back until much later. We headed up to our dormitory and got ready for bed. I slid under my maroon covers and lay staring at the ceiling until I dozed off. It didn't seem much later, though when I was suddenly woken up by something.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

"Come… come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"

I jolted out of bed, looking around the room in fear.

"What?" I gasped.

Hermione, in the bed next to me, groaned.

"What is it, Isobel?" she asked.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, not bothering to be quiet.

"Hear what?" She sat up, looking at me in confusion.

"That – that voice that said – didn't you hear it?" I asked.

Hermione was looking at me in high astonishment.

"What are you talking about, Isobel? You're probably tired. Go back to sleep."

I didn't answer. I was straining my ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for the occasional snores from the girls. I wanted to go out and find Harry or Ron or someone, but I knew they would say I was crazy. But the voice seemed so real. I sighed and hopped back into bed, pulling the covers up tightly around myself. My heart was pounding as I thought about the words, but eventually, sleep brought me under.

* * *

**Soooo, I promise there's a good reason for Isobel also being a Parselmouth. I also realise I haven't really explained Isobel's involvement in the night James and Lily died, and for that, I'm sorry. But in case you hadn't already guessed, she wasn't targeted by Voldemort specifically, and so she doesn't have a scar or anything from a backfired curse - she didn't get hit in the first place. I know you might have more questions, but they will be explained at a later point:) For now, please leave a review with your thoughts and comments. **


	26. Deathday Party

**Hey guys! Here's the next one:)**

* * *

**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 8**

The following day when I went down to the Common Room, I saw Harry was already awake. That in itself had me concerned, but the pale look on his face worried me further.

"Harry?" I ask quietly, cautious that it was still early.

He jumped when he heard me, and then turned around. He pulled on a smile for me, but I knew he was faking it.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Nothing. I'm fine. Are you?"

I ignore his question, moving to sit next to him on the couch.

"Don't try and lie to me," I warn lightly. "I'm your sister, remember? I know everything that's going on in your head!"

He laughs at my joke but sobers almost instantly.

"Promise you won't think I'm crazy?" his eyes are wide and full of emotion.

"Of course I won't," I reassure him, shifting to lean on his shoulder slightly. "Now what's wrong?"

"I –" he starts. "I heard something last night. During my detention with Lockhart."

I stiffen.

"Something, as in a voice?" I ask in a small whisper.

He gasps, and I straighten up to look at him.

"You heard it too?" he asks me.

"Hermione didn't, but it woke me up," I tell him, trying not to shiver as I remember the coldness and the words that I heard. "It was saying -. Come to me, let me –"

"Kill you," Harry finished, and I nodded. "Ron didn't hear it either!" he exclaims. "And neither did Lockhart! I don't know how because I was with him! None of the girls in your room heard it?"

I shake my head.

"Not as far as I know. I was the only one it woke up at least."

"So that means it wasn't someone in the room," Harry mutters. "Ron said last night he didn't get in because even someone invisible would have had to open a door, and I would've seen. But if you heard it too…"

"I think we should tell someone," I say worriedly.

"But Isobel," Harry starts. "If no one else heard it, people are going to think we're mad! It's already bad enough with Lockhart and Colin on our backs."

"And everyone in general because you're the Boy Who Lived," I add quietly, slumping.

He stays quiet for a moment, a look of sorrow on his face.

"Look, maybe it was just our imaginations," he suggests after a minute. "We probably won't hear anything like it again. But if we do, we'll tell someone. I promise."

"Both of our imaginations though?" I ask sceptically.

He gives me a hopeless yet pleading look. I sigh before nodding. He's most likely right anyway. I leant back down on his shoulder, and we stayed like that until people started filing into the room. Soon enough, Hermione came down, and then Ron, and then we were off to breakfast.

The day flew by, and I had all but forgotten about the voice.

Soon enough, October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards. Ginny, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry and I were returning to Gryffindor Tower late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind, it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of the new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.

Suddenly, as Harry and I squelched along the deserted corridor, we came across Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower. He was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "…don't fulfil their requirements… half an inch, if that…"

"Hello, Nick," said Harry.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking around.

He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and I could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"You look troubled, young Potters," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," I pointed out.

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance… It's not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I'd apply, but apparently, I don't fulfil requirements'-"

Despite his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," Nick erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh – yes," said Harry and I, who were obviously supposed to agree.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So – what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"

"No," said Harry glumly. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly-"

The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. I looked down and found Mrs Norris, the skeletal grey cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students, fluttering around Harry and I's ankles.

"You'd better get out of here, you two," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood – he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place–"

"Right," I said, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs Norris.

But Harry wasn't quick enough. He seemed to be stuck to the spot, despite my tugging of his robes. Suddenly, Filch burst through a tapestry to the right, panting and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry and I's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potters!"

So we waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. I had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, I could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I've had enough of it… make an example… where're the forms… yes…"

He retrieved two large rolls of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched them out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the inkpot.

"Names… Harry and Isobel Potter. Crime…"

"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry protested.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me, it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime… befouling the castle… suggested sentence…"

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry and I as we waited with bated breath for our sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time; I'll have you!"

And without a backward glance at Harry or I, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him.

I didn't much like Peeves, but I couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something huge this time) would distract Filch from us.

"Should we wait, do you reckon?" Harry asked.

I sighed.

"Probably."

We sank into the moth-eaten chairs next to the desk. There was only one thing on the desk apart from our half-completed forms: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front.

We glanced at each other. Then Harry looked at the door before picking up the envelope.

"Harry!" I reprimanded lightly but leant over to read anyway.

Kwikspell

A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.

I furrowed my eyebrows as Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?

There is an answer!

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:

"I had no memory for incantations, and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the centre of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:

"My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"

Harry, obviously fascinated, thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents as I glanced anxiously at the door every so often. But my attention was brought back to the parchment. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? We were just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when I heard shuffling footsteps outside told.

"Filch!" I hissed.

Harry's eyes widened, and he stuffed the parchment back into the envelope. He threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet–"

His eyes fell on the two of us and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, I realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.

Filch's pasty face went brick red. I braced myself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you – did you read -?" he sputtered.

"No," we lied quickly.

Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.

"If I thought you'd read my private - not that it's mine – for a friend – be that as it may – however–"

I saw Harry glance at me before a moment, obviously alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Very well – go – and don't breathe a word – not that – however, if you didn't read – go now, I have to write up Peeves' report – go–"

Amazed at our luck, we sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

"Harry! Isobel! Did it work?"

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, I could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him–"

"Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, we didn't even get detention."

"Thanks, Nick!" we say together.

We set off up the corridor together. I noticed Nick was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.

"I wish there were something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks, and Harry walked right through him. Smartly, I avoided the ghost.

"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry, Isobel – would I be asking too much – but no, you wouldn't want–"

"What is it?" I ask.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth death day," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," said Harry, glancing at me in confusion. "Right."

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if both of you would attend. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course – but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry and me on tenterhooks.

"No," I said quickly.

"We'll come–" Harry agreed.

"My dear boy! Harry and Isobel Potter at my deathday party! And -" he hesitated, looking excited "- do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of – of course," said Harry.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at us.

"A deathday party?" asked Hermione keenly once Harry and I had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those – it'll be fascinating!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" asked Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me…"

The rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry had just mentioned Filch when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, was enough to distract us all.

By the time Halloween arrived, I could tell Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the death day party. Admittedly, so was I. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's huge pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. I didn't know if the last one was true or not, because he had stubbornly not revealed anything when I asked him during our sessions leading up to the feast.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry and me bossily. "You said you'd go to the death day party."

So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed our steps instead toward the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over our own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step we took. I heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered.

We turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…"

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed us inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breaths rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, shifting around a bit.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor. We passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. I wasn't surprised to see that the other ghosts were giving the Bloody Baron a wide berth.

"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle–"

"Who?" said Harry as we backtracked quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," I said, understanding Hermione's worry.

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you–"

"Look, food!" said Ron.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. We approached it eagerly but next moment stopped in our tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

I watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.

We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before us.

"Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around us, Peeves was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No, thanks," said Hermione.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it; I don't mind her – er, hello, Myrtle."

The short ghost of a girl had glided over. She had a glum face half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

"What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" I asked in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear. "Just saying–"

"Just saying – saying – how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No – honestly – didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging me and Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Definitely!"

"Oh, yeah–"

"She did–"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply! Pimply!"

"Oh, dear," I winced.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward us through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," we lied.

"Not a bad turnout," said Nick proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent… It's nearly time for my speech; I'd better go and warn the orchestra…"

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; we started to clap too but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting the four of us and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say – look at the fellow–"

"I think," said Harry hurriedly, after a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very – frightening and – er–"

"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head.

"Bet he asked you to say that!"

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…"

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey, and the crowd were turning to watch. Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

We were all cold by now, and dreadfully hungry.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

"Let's go," Harry, Hermione and I agreed.

We backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

And then I heard it.

"… rip… tear… kill…"

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice that had woken me up that night.

I stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, staring wide-eyed at Harry.

"Do you -?" I asked, and he nodded.

We listened intently, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, Isobel, what're you -?"

"It's that voice again – shut up a minute–"

"… soo hungry… for so long…"

"Listen!" we said urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching us.

"… kill… time to kill…"

The voice was growing fainter. It sounded like it was moving away – moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped me as I stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward?

"This way," Harry shouted, and he began to run with me on his heels, up the stairs, into the entrance hall.

I tried looking for the golden path that would normally light my way, but nothing was happening. It was no good hoping to hear anything in the entrance hall, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. We sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind us.

"Guys, what're we–"

"SHH!"

II strained my ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, I heard the voice: "… I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!"

I felt sick.

"It's going to kill someone!" I shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, Harry and I ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over our own pounding footsteps – we hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind us, not stopping until we turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry, Isobel, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything…"

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"Look! "

Something was shining on the wall ahead. We approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN

OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

"What's that thing – hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As we edged nearer, Harry almost slipped – there was a large puddle of water on the floor; the three of us grabbed him, and we inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of us realized what it was at once and leapt backwards with a splash.

Mrs Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, we didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly.

"Trust me," I interrupted. "We don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told us that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where we stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat. Anger flashed through me, but there was nothing I could do.

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**Hey, sorry its ended in a weird spot, but, oh well. Also, I promise, from here on out, the story will be different and slightly AU by me. I know, it's taken me so long to get to, but, well, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoyed, and please leave likes and comments!**


	27. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened

**Hey, so I know I said it would be a lot more my own stuff from here on out, and I promise it will be, but there's still going to be a lot of similar stuff. However, this will have my own spin on it, so I hope you enjoy:)**

* * *

**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 9**

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry and me.

"You!" he screeched. "The two of you! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll–"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by several other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione and I and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr and Miss Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free–"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As we entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls; I saw several of the Lockhart's in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The four of us exchanged worried glances as we sank into the chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her – probably the Transmogrifian Torture – I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter curse that would have saved her…"

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs Norris, his face in his hands. Much as I detested Filch, I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as I felt for Harry and I if Dumbledore believed Filch.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened. She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

"…I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…"

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.

At last, Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs Norris. "But why's she all – all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say…"

"Ask them!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry and me.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly, although his eyes lingered on me for a moment before returning to Filch. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced–"

"They did it. They did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what they wrote on the wall! They found – in my office – they know I'm a – I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "They know I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"We never touched Mrs Norris!" Harry said loudly.

"And we don't even know what a Squib is," I agreed.

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "They saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and my anxiety increased; I was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do us any good.

"The Potters and their friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

The four of us launched into an explanation about the death day party. "…there were hundreds of ghosts; they'll tell you we were there–"

"But why not join the feast afterwards?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry and me.

"Because – because -" Harry said, his eyes darting between the Professors and me. I wanted to tell the truth, but a look from Harry stopped me. "Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he said.

"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he and Miss Potter were deprived of certain privileges until they are ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel they should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until they are ready, to be honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop them from playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that the Potters have done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry and me a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made me feel as though I was being X-rayed. I itched to tell the truth, but I could feel Harry's eyes burning into me, and I held my tongue.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly.

Snape looked furious.

So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep–"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, Hermione and I.

We went, but I pulled us up short just as quick. Harry, guessing what I was about to say, butts in.

"Isobel, they're just going to think we're delusional if we tell them the truth!" he cries.

"Harry, I agreed to stay quiet as long as we didn't hear it again. But we did. Both of us, at the same time, in the same voice, with almost the same threat. I don't know why no one else is hearing it, Harry, but we need to tell Dumbledore," I say firmly.

Harry stares at me with pleading emerald eyes. I refuse to give in.

"Harry, I think she's right," Hermione says quietly. "This time it was just Mrs Norris petrified. But what if it happens again and it's worse. What if one of the staff or students gets petrified. Or –"

"No," Ron cut in, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Ron's voice made me sceptical. Harry must have sensed it too, because he asked, "You do believe us, don't you?"

"Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But – you must admit it's weird…"

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened … What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might've been Bill…"

"And what on earth's a Squib?" asked Harry.

To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well – it's not funny really – but as it's Filch," he said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."

"Harry, no!" I protest. "We have to tell someone!"

"Isobel –"

"Tell someone what?" I suddenly hear.

I turn around to see McGonagall, Dumbledore and Snape exiting Lockhart's office. McGonagall stares down at us with a stern look. Behind her, Snape wears his usual sneer and Dumbledore is looking at us with curiosity.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry says quickly.

I glare at him as Snape scoffs and then turns away, walking the opposite way and turning around a corner. Before Dumbledore and McGonagall can leave, however, I cut in.

"Harry's lying," I say quickly. "There is something we have to tell you."

"Isobel!"

"Shush, Harry," I interrupt.

From the corner of my eye, I see Hermione pull Ron away, and I silently thank her.

"Harry and I heard something, just before," I say, ignoring Harry's protests. "We've heard it before, a few weeks ago, but we thought it was just our imagination because no one else seemed to hear it. But tonight, we followed the voice, and that's where we found Mrs Norris."

McGonagall's eyebrows raise up to her hairline.

"Voice?" Dumbledore inquires. "What was it saying?"

"It –" I falter.

"It was saying it wanted to kill," Harry sighs. "The first time it sounded like it was talking to someone. But this time it just said it was hungry, that it could smell blood."

McGonagall gasps and I notice the twinkle has left Dumbledore's eyes.

"Do you have any idea where it was coming from?" he asks. "Who might have been speaking?"

We shake our heads.

"It sounded like it was moving upwards. We kept following it," I say. "But in the end, all we found was Mrs Norris."

Dumbledore sighs. He glances at McGonagall but doesn't say anything. After a moment I realise they're talking non-verbally. I turn to Harry, but he refuses to meet my eye.

"Harry," I say softly, reaching out to rest my hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

He reluctantly looks up at me.

"We don't even know what we're hearing Isobel, how do we know that it's even there? Now that you've told Dumbledore – "

"He'll be able to find out more than we can," I interrupt. "Harry, Hermione was right. What if next time its worse than Mrs Norris? What if next time it does…kill something. Or someone. I can't let that happen, Harry."

"You think I want that happening?" he exclaims. "Of course, I don't. But you also heard Ron, Isobel. Hearing something no one else can hear isn't a good sign."

I open my mouth to respond, but Dumbledore cuts in. I jump slightly, having almost forgotten he was there.

"Thank you for telling us this, Miss Potter," he says. "I'm afraid I can't tell you what it is that you're hearing, but I think it could come in useful if something like this is to happen again."

I nod with a minute smile.

"Good night Miss Potter, Mr Potter," McGonagall says, and the dismissal is evident in her voice.

Harry takes my arm, and we head back to Gryffindor tower as fast as we can. Unfortunately, when we get into the Common Room, Ron and Hermione are waiting in the armchairs for an explanation. So with a sigh, we join them and recount what was said.

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. He had been seen scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly and "looking happy."

Ginny seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking -" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also affected Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Admittedly, I was somewhat as bad, just as desperate as her for answers. We were too busy to tell the boys what we were up to, knowing that they would be no help in the matter.

Harry had been held back in Potions, so Hermione, Ron and I went upstairs to the library. Hermione and I separated to find some new books while Ron reluctantly sat down to do his homework. Not too long later, I saw Harry enter and sit beside Ron. I went to find Hermione, and she reluctantly agreed to talk to them.

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," Ron said as we approached. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great–"

We emerged from between the bookshelves.

"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," Hermione said as we sat down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" asked Harry.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" asked Harry quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else–"

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron desperately, checking his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it–"

"I only need another two inches, come on– Isobel-?"

The bell rang. I shook my head as Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on our schedule. Professor Binns was our only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard.

Today was as dull as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss – er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender's head came up off her arms, and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk slipping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers–"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement; I was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale–"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at us all; every face turned to his. He was obviously completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when common people feared magic, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir – what exactly do you mean by the horror within the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing–"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it–"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore–"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't -" began Dean, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told the three of us as we fought our way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off our bags before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home…"

Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. I looked at him curiously. He looked like he was about to be sick.

"You know technically I am in Slytherin," I pointed out. Ron immediately paled.

"Oh, sorry," he blushed. "I just meant –"

"It's fine," I wave him off. "Harry, are you alright?" I ask, noticing he was even paler than Ron.

Just then, Colin Creevey came past.

"Hiya, Harry! Isobel!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically, seemingly snapping out of his thoughts. I responded as unenthusiastically as him.

"Harry – Isobel – a boy in my class has been saying you're–"

But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you, Potter!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you two?" Hermione wondered.

"That we're Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his face paling again.

He quickly told Hermione and me about his encounter with Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned, and we were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione and me.

"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be – well – human."

As she spoke, we turned a corner and found ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. We stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that no stiff cat was hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened."

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

We looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

"Not human?" I ask Hermione as we move to the wall. "What could it be?"

"Scorch marks!" Harry suddenly said. "Here – and here–"

"Come and look at this!" exclaimed Hermione. "This is funny…"

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall where Hermione and I were. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"I – don't – like – spiders," said Ron tensely.

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times…"

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. "I just don't like the way they move…"

Hermione giggled.

"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my – my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick… You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…"

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh. Obviously feeling we had better get off the subject, Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

And ignoring the large OUT of ORDER sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom with chipped sinks and wooden doors to stalls scratched and flaking. I'd been in here a few times, but only when I was absolutely desperate for the bathroom, or when I forgot what it was like.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips as we set off toward the end stall. When we reached it, we saw Myrtle floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. Hermione said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

"This is a girls bathroom," Myrtle said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. "They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "We just wanted to show them how er – nice it is in here."

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask–"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead–"

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only–"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place, and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," I said quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" asked Harry.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm – that I'm–"

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over us and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione and I shrugged wearily. "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let's go," Hermione said.

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all four of us jump.

"RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

"That's a girls bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you -?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know–"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded me of Mrs Weasley.

"Get – away – from – there -" Perry said, striding toward us and starting to bustle us along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner–"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled, I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business–"

"You don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy–"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work or I'll write to Mum!"

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

We chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in an awful temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry and I's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation we had just been having. "Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy–"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him – You'll be next, Mudbloods! - come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him–"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" I asked sceptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son …"

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible…"

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. I got a bad feeling. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect–"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"All right," said Hermione coldly. "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us."

"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" said Ron and Harry together as I gasped.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago–"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" muttered Ron.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into four of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like four of the Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library." There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher. "Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions." "I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick…"

"Wait, Hermione, are you really considering this?" I ask.

She glances at me hopelessly.

"If you have another idea, I'm open," she sighs.

I pause. I did have another idea. But whether or not it would work…

"I could try going into the Slytherin common room," I say, gauging their reactions as I spoke. "No, listen, I'm serious," I say, cutting off Harry. "I'm allowed in. I can try to talk to someone, even if it's not Malfoy. Someone's bound to know something!"

"Absolutely not!" Harry cries. "You are not going in there alone!"

"Oh, bugger off," I exclaim. "It's not like they're going to kill me!"

"Yes, they will!" Ron mutters.

I try not to glare at him.

"Look, isn't it worth a shot?" I try to reason with them. "This way, we won't have to break any rules. Besides, Polyjuice Potion takes too long to wait," I glance at Hermione. "If I do this we won't have to wait."

She bit her lip.

"I don't like it, Isobel," she said slowly.

"Neither do I," I sigh. "But it's worth a shot, isn't it?"

She sighs, and I glance at Ron and Harry. Harry still looks furious.

"Mate," Ron said cautiously. "I think it's worth a shot."

Harry visibly deflated, knowing it was three against one.

"I'll be careful, I promise," I reassure him.

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**I hope you liked it! Please leave a review and don't forget to follow my Insta account:)**


	28. Making friends with Slytherins

**Guys, I am SO sorry for the late update! Unfortunately, my computer was stuffing up last week, so I didn't get a chance to work on this chapter and then I had something to take care of, but enough excuses! Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!**

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**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 10**

The next day, we spent our time planning. Harry had reluctantly agreed, and we now sat in a quiet corner of the library going through our plans.

"You can't let them know you're only there for information," Hermione warned me. "You're going to have to be subtle. As much as I hate it, I don't think you'll find out much tonight. I think it's going to take several visits for them to start even remotely trusting you."

"What?!" Harry exploded. "No way."

I shushed him when we got a harsh glare from Madame Pince.

"Yes, Harry," I hissed. "It's the only way this will work. Do you really think Malfoy will reveal anything straight away, after a year of hating him?"

My brother sighed and then gave a reluctant shake of his head.

"Good," I say. "Now, as much as it pains me, I think I'm going to have to start spending less time with you three. It'll be suspicious if I just go in there with no reason. I think maybe we could stage a fight?" I looked at the other three.

Hermione nodded in understanding while the boys just stared at me blankly. I sighed.

"It should be with Harry and Ron," Hermione suggested. "That way, you and I still have a reason for talking to each other."

"Hang on," Harry suddenly interrupted. "Why do you two get to 'stay friends'? I'm her brother!"

"Which means there'll be a reason for us eventually making up and start talking again," I say. "Besides, this way, I can still sleep in the Gryffindor dormitory if need be and spend time in the library and whatnot."

He gives a huff but then agrees. We spend the next few hours going through our plans until finally, we're ready to put them into action. Unfortunately, the best time to do it would be later tonight, so we had to wait. To make it more believable though, Hermione and I went off together while Ron and Harry went somewhere else.

I knew this was a risk, but we had to take it. I couldn't shake the memories of that night from my head. The cold voice demanding death and finding Mrs Norris petrified haunted me. That's why, after taking a deep breath, I entered the Great Hall with a scowl on my face, stomping over to where Hermione, Ron and Harry sat. My presence had not gone unnoticed, and most of the Gryffindors sat wide-eyed as I approached the three. A few people from the other houses also seemed to be watching, although much less conspicuously. Good. Preparing for what was about to come, I took a calming breath, before yanking Harry up from his seat by the neck of his robes.

On his part, he does a surprisingly good job. His eyes widen in astonishment and slight fear before he assumes a defensive position.

"Do you mind, Isobel?" he complains loudly. "What was that for?"

"For this," I seethe, holding up the tatters of several robes. "You ruined my clothes!"

Harry laughs a little.

"Oh, don't worry about them, it was just a prank, right, Ron?" he said, glancing down at the redhead.

Ron stood up with a grin.

"Yeah, don't worry, Bel," he said.

I glared at them as best I could.

"YOU RUINED MY ROBES!" I shriek, holding back a triumphant smirk when I successfully grab the attention of everyone in the Hall. "Now I have nothing to wear!"

"Just wear the one you've got on," Harry suggests.

"For the rest of the term?" I yell. "I have no other robes!"

"Just use Hermione's," Ron said. "I'm sure she won't mind sharing."

"You git!" Hermione shot back, standing up in a rage. "What makes you think you could ruin Isobel's robes? You know she can't get any new ones!"

Before either of the boys could say anything, Professor McGonagall was suddenly swooping down on us.

"Quiet, all of you," she said sternly. Then, to the rest of the Hall, "Return to your meals. You four, follow me!"

With that, she started out of the Hall, and we had to jog to keep up. I glanced at the other three behind McGonagall's back, and Hermione gave an encouraging nod. This was all part of the plan. McGonagall leads us into a nearby empty classroom before turning around with a glare.

"What is this meaning of this Mr Potter, Mr Weasley?" she demands.

"It was just a harmless prank, Professor!" Ron said immediately. "We didn't think Isobel would react like this!"

"How else was I supposed to react, Ronald?" I snap. "Happy, that you've ruined all my robes?" I scoff.

McGonagall interrupts before he can retort.

"Enough! Five points from each of you for your disturbance. Another five for the destruction of another students property," she directed the last part to the boys. "Now I suggest you four sort this out before creating another scene! Miss Potter, new robes will be sorted out for you as soon as possible."

She left in a swirl of robes, leaving the four of us in silence. Once we were sure she was gone, we breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do you reckon we were believable?" Ron asks hesitantly.

"I think so," Harry answered. "It's not the best thing to get mad over, admittedly, but I think it will do. If not, we can just put it down to Isobel's stubbornness," he joked.

I swat his arm, albeit with a small laugh.

"Now I just have to get the Slytherins to warm up to me," I sigh.

"Hey, you'll be fine," Harry said, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into an affectionate side hug. "As long as you put on enough charm, you can get anyone to like you. I mean, who wouldn't?" he grins.

I smile gratefully at him.

"Come on, we should go before people start getting suspicious," Hermione suggested after a moment. "Dinner will be over soon."

We nod and Harry and Ron exit the classroom. Hermione and I wait a moment before leaving as well. We discreetly make our way closer to the dungeons, where we often saw the Slytherins coming and going from, which meant their Common room had to be somewhere near there. We pretended not to notice though as we took up residence against a wall, talking quietly to pass the time. We kept an eye out as we did until Hermione suddenly nudged me. I glanced around and grinned when I saw the lonesome blonde girl. A Slytherin in our year, her name was Daphne Greengrass, and I had sometimes seen her around the castle and of course, in classes. She always seemed to be on her own, although sometimes I saw her talking to Tracey Davis and Sophie Ropher, two of the other Slytherin girls in our year.

Time for the show to begin.

"Bye Hermione," I said sadly, knowing Daphne would hear.

Hermione smiled brightly and gave me a wave which I half-heartedly returned before she walked off, leaving me alone. I tried not to be too obvious as I watched Daphne, but I also needed to make sure she knew I knew she was there. I knew it was kind of mean, doing the whole guilt-tripping thing, but, oh well, she's a Slytherin, I'm sure she'll handle it.

I watch as Daphne seems to have a mental debate with herself before she sighs and starts towards me. I turn away to hide a grin on the pretence of wiping tears away.

"Uh, hey," Daphne says awkwardly.

I whirl around, almost giving myself whiplash as I do. I stare at her for a moment before mumbling a hey. We stand there, awkwardly for a moment before she speaks.

"Er – are you okay? Just – I, uh, well I heard you and your brother fighting with Weasley and…" she trails off.

"I'm fine," I say harshly.

Then I soften my voice a bit.

"Sorry, I'm just a bit wound up."

She looks at me in surprise for a moment.

"It's fine," she says. "Um, do you want to talk about it or something?"

"Not really," I answer, knowing that would make just as uncomfortable as it would make me. "I just need some time away from him and the others."

She nods.

"That's understandable. Well, do you want to come with me? I'm sure they won't bother you if you're with the snakes," she scoffs the last part out, and I look at her in genuine surprise.

"Um, sure," I say, internally jumping with joy that I had managed it.

She flashes a quick grin before leading me away, presumably to the Slytherin Common Room.

"So, uh, why do I get the feeling you're not particularly fond of Slytherin?" I ask, attempting to make conversation.

She bites her lip, glancing around as if to make sure no one else is listening.

"I am," she's quick to defend her house. "It's more so the people. I'm not entirely on board with all the purebloods thinking they're better than everyone else and showing that in the rudest way possible."

I look at her curiously. While I had intended to make 'friends' with her, I hadn't thought it would be genuine. I thought she would be like all the others, and I would have to grit my teeth to stop myself from saying something that could make my plans fall apart. But I found myself actually wanting to know more.

"You mean you're not like that?" I ask.

She scoffs.

"Of course not. Not all Slytherin's are, as hard as that is to believe. We just tend to keep to ourselves rather than calling attention to it is all."

"Is that why you're always on your own?" I ask, wincing as soon as I say it. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just –"

She surprises me by laughing.

"It's fine. I know what you mean. And to answer your question, sort of. It's also because I don't really get along with the others, so I don't have many friends," she shrugs nonchalantly, fidgeting with the strap on her shoulder I presume is holding books of some sort.

"Oh."

Thankfully, at that moment we come to a stop. I look expectantly at Daphne, not knowing what to do.

"Pureblood," Daphne says, not looking at me.

I crinkle my eyes in confusion before a passage reveals itself from within the bare stone wall.

"Come on," Daphne laughs softly at my amazed expression.

She leads me into the passage and guides me through it until we emerge in what I assume is the Slytherin Common Room. I gasp when I see it.

The room was elegant, and a striking contrast to the Gryffindor Common Room. Most of the furniture was green or grey, and silver seemed to be the only metal present in the room. Several windows revealed that we were beneath the Great Lake, giving the room an even greener appearance.

I'm so caught up in admiring the room that I don't notice it had gone silent until Daphne clears her throat slightly. I startle and look around, realising everyone's eyes were on me. I flushed, looking to Daphne for help. She seemed just as embarrassed as me though, so we just stood in silence, waiting for someone to speak. Sure enough, someone did.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

I hold back an eye roll at the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy. It took me a moment to find him amongst all the students, but it ended up being easy because he was the only one in the room moving.

Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, he had his usual sneer on his face as he walked over to me, stopping a few metres away from Daphne and I. He looked at me expectantly for an answer.

"In case your dense brain has forgotten, Malfoy," I fire back. "I'm welcome here. I'm also in Slytherin."

Several people sneer at the reminder, but it has the opposite effect on Malfoy. His sneer drops, and surprisingly he laughs. I glare incredulously at him.

"Something funny, Malfoy?" I cut in.

He stops laughing to look at me, amusement still evident in his eyes, however.

"Yeah. Do you think you're welcome here, Potter? I find that really funny."

This time I don't hold back an eye roll. I'm tempted to just up and leave, but I know how important it is that I gain some sort of trust among the Slytherins. So I bite my tongue and take a deep breath to calm myself.

"Look, I'm not here for a fight, Malfoy," I say, raising my voice so everyone can hear me. "So save it. I'm just getting away from my brother."

Malfoy scoffs.

"Trouble in paradise Potter?"

I clench my jaw, trying to keep the irritated look off my face.

"Fine," I say, desperately hoping Daphne was right before about not all Slytherin's being evil. "It's obvious you don't want me here, so I'll just – "

"Wait."

I stop, looking around for the person who spoke. A tall boy, a sixth year, I think, fights his way through.

"Leave her be, Draco," he says, speaking to Malfoy. "You heard their fight. Just give it a rest for a day, won't you?"

I feel slightly guilty about deceiving them, but I put it aside. There were more pressing matters at hand here. I bite my cheek as Malfoy stares the older boy down, anxiously tapping my foot against the ground. Finally, Malfoy looks away from the boy in an obvious sign of surrender. A sigh of relief escapes me as everyone seems to get the message and slowly but surely, everyone returns to their own thing, leaving Daphne and me looking gratefully at the boy. He walks over to me and holds his hand out.

"I'm David Selwyn, sixth-year Prefect," he offers.

I let out a breath of relieved laughter, taking his hand.

"Isobel Potter," I say.

"Yeah, I figured," he laughs.

I grin awkwardly.

"Thanks for that," I say. "I meant what I said. I'm not here to fight."

He nods.

"I know. That's why I stepped in. Just stay away from the not-so-friendly lot, okay? I'm sure Daphne can help you with that," he flashes a grin at the blonde.

She nods, returning the smile.

"Thanks, David," she says, before beckoning me into the room, over to a quiet corner.

I sit down, and without even an invitation, she starts pointing out people I should avoid and who's alright. I find myself laughing at her jokes and talking easily to her once the initial awkwardness is gone. The whole time I'm itching to say something about the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets, but I know it's too soon. So instead I just enjoy the conversation and find my eyes slowly falling shut as people start heading off to bed. I fight off sleep; however, as Daphne doesn't seem to be growing tired.

I realise she's probably never really spoken to someone like this before, and I find myself feeling sorry for her. She seemed like a decent person, and nothing at all like the typical Slytherin's I had only encountered before now.

Eventually, I can't fight sleep off anymore, and I fall asleep right there, no longer paying attention to Daphne, unsure if she was even still awake herself.

* * *

The next morning I wake to the sound of voices. I wearily blink myself awake, looking around in confusion at my unfamiliar surroundings. Then it clicks. I was in the Slytherin Common Room. I had fallen asleep on the couch, and someone must have found me during the night because I now had a blanket over me. Frowning, I pushed it off and looked around. Only a few people were awake, and Daphne was nowhere in sight. She had probably been sensible and slept in her dormitory rather than opting for a couch. Lord knows it was more comfortable. I groaned as I stood up, my back aching slightly from the cramped position I was in. I stretch it and sigh with relief when it cracks into place.

Figuring I should probably go before people started filtering in, I folded the blanket up and then headed out of the Common Room. I realised I couldn't completely remember where to go, so I waited for a moment for the golden path to light up and guide me. Sure enough, it did, and I gladly followed it through and up into the Entrance Hall. Knowing most people would still be asleep, I crept through the castle to head for Gryffindor Tower. When I reached it, I slipped inside and went up the stairs to the dormitory, silently grabbing some clothes before heading into the shower. When I emerged, I saw Hermione's bed was empty, so I quickly grabbed my things before heading down. I grinned when I saw Hermione, and I went over to her, surprising her as she snapped her book closed.

"Isobel!" she exclaims. "How'd it go?" she continues quieter.

"Pretty good," I say, launching into an explanation.

Harry and Ron join as not long after, and luckily none of the Gryffindor's asks any questions about it, so we talk for a bit before deciding to head down to breakfast. Hermione and I break off as part of the plan and eat quickly before it's time for class. Unfortunately, Defence Against the Dark Arts is our last lesson of the day, and Lockhart calls the four of us back, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Harry and I were supposedly not on the best terms.

"So, Harry, Isobel," said Lockhart. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player, Harry. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players…"

I held back a scoff as Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried the three of us off. Once we were outside the classroom, Ron turned to us.

"Less able players?" he demands. "Does he not realise that you two are the youngest Quidditch players in over a century?"

I laugh lightly as Harry blushes.

"Oh, shush, Ron," Hermione scolds him, still flustered over Lockhart. "He was just being nice."

Harry and I glance at each other as Ron raises his eyebrows at her. Harry hauls him away; however, before he can say anything, and we quickly follow.

"So I suppose you'll be going back to the Slytherin's tonight?" Harry asked me in a slightly defeated voice.

Ron muttered to Harry, loud enough for me to hear, "It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."

I hold back a grin as I answer Harry.

"Yeah. But I don't think it will be too bad. Daphne's pretty nice."

We spend a little more time talking and making plans before we hear someone coming by and quickly separating, not wanting people to think we're on good terms again. That would just mess everything up.

Before I knew it, it was Saturday morning and lay awake in my bed in the Gryffindor girl's dormitory while thinking about the upcoming Quidditch match. I was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy. I had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. Even after spending some time amongst them, I knew they were still, on the whole, a bunch of gits.

Eventually, I got up and dressed and went down to breakfast early, where I found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry and I good luck as we entered the locker rooms. We pulled on our scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.

"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers -"("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August")"- and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

"It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry," said Fred, winking at him.

I gave Harry a reassuring smile as we walked out onto the pitch. A roar of noise greeted us; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three… two… one…"

With a roar from the crowd to speed us upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. I instantly went after the Quaffle, quickly shifting into Quidditch mode. Before long, however, it was apparent something was wrong.

The Bludger's were usually pretty violent, but today they seemed even more so. I found I was struggling to doge them and putting more effort into staying out of their way than flying with the Quaffle.

At one point, I found myself stopped near Harry to catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly.

I nod but widen my eyes as I spot a Bludger coming for us.

"Watch out!" I cry, zooming out of the way.

"Close one, Harry!" I hear George, say from behind me, and turn to see him streaking past Harry with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. However, the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again.

I couldn't pay it much mind as Angelina shot past with the Quaffle, tossing it over to me. I caught it and sped off, dodging through the Slytherins and Bludgers. But with the Bludgers constantly heading for me, there wasn't much I could. I was forced to toss the Quaffle off to Katie in the hopes she could score a goal, as the Bludgers didn't seem too focused on her. It was no use, however. The Slytherins were too fast.

It had started to rain; I felt heavy drops fall onto my face, cutting into me like glass.

"Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero," Lee Jordan announced as Slytherin scored another goal.

Meanwhile, the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry and me out of the air. I had noticed it going after him as well, so now, Fred (on me) and George (on Harry) were now flying alongside us to stop the Bludgers.

"Someone's – tampered – with – this – Bludger -" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on me.

"We need time out," yelled George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out, and we dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry and Isobel, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it – it won't leave them alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…" said Wood, anxiously. Madam Hooch was walking toward us. Over her shoulder, I could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.

"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying around us all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."

"Don't be thick," I said. "It'll take your head off."

I wasn't so concerned about myself. With me flying through everyone anyway, the Bludger wasn't too bad when it was going for me. Wood was looking from Harry and me to the Weasleys.

"Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily. "You can't let Harry and Isobel deal with that thing on their own. Let's ask for an inquiry…"

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave us alone!"

Reluctantly, I nodded along, knowing we would just have to deal with it.

"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. "Get the Snitch or die trying, what a stupid thing to tell him–"

Madam Hooch had joined us.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.

"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry – leave him and Isobel alone and let them deal with the Bludger on their own."

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, I kicked hard into the air, racing across the pitch. I kept one eye on the Bludger and Harry, the other on the Quaffle and the game. I was too busy focusing on scoring a goal that I almost missed it.

Harry had stayed still for too long, and the Bludger hit him. I instantly pulled to a stop, watching in fear as my brother fell sideways, right arm dangling uselessly, forced to swerve out of the way as the Bludger heads for him again. For some reason he kept flying, speeding towards Malfoy. Harry took his remaining hand off his broom, leaving only his legs to grip his broom. I screamed as he fell to the ground; my cries lost amongst the crowd. I raced towards him as he hit the ground and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a bizarre angle, but I saw a flash of gold in his good hand. The crowd must have seen it too because there was instant whistling and shouting. But then Harry fainted, and I dived to the ground, quickly followed by a bunch of Gryffindors and Lockhart. I gritted my teeth as Lockhart kept me aside as he leant over Harry, who was slowly coming around.

"Oh, no, not you," Harry moaned when he saw Lockhart.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks…"

He tried to sit up, and Colin clicked away on his camera.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," Harry said loudly.

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times–"

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.

"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say–"

"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

"No – don't -" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.

I didn't want to look, but I couldn't tear my gaze away. As soon as I saw, however, I wished I hadn't. Colin Creevey began clicking away madly.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing – ah, Miss Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? – and Madam Pomfrey will be able to – er – tidy you up a bit."

As Harry got to his feet, he looked down at his right side. I watched as he obviously tried to move his arm, but nothing happened. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove.

Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second – but growing them back–"

"You will be able to, won't you?" asked Harry desperately.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pyjamas. "You'll have to stay the night…"

Hermione and I waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pyjamas.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," said Harry. "But it doesn't do anything else either."

Me, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labelled Skele-Gro.

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

So was taking the Skele-Gro apparently. He coughed and spluttered as it went down. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving the three of us to help Harry gulp down some water. "We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face… he looked ready to kill…"

"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly. "We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him, Isobel," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows.

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry. "Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy." They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"

I wanted to stay, but Madame Pomfrey was having none of it. So, reluctantly, we were forced out, and we trampled back to Gryffindor Tower. There was a celebration of sorts, but my heart wasn't in it as I worried for Harry.

Eventually, it came time for bed, and I was too exhausted to do much else, so I showered, changed, and then slipped into bed.

I was so tired that I didn't even stir as a wave of magic travelled through the castle, illuminating the walls in a golden hue.

* * *

**So I hope you liked the bit at the beginning. As I've said before, from here on out we're travelling away from the original story a bit, so please leave your thoughts and comments in a review:) I hope to update soon!**


	29. Justin and Nick

**Hey guys, here's the next chapter. Unfortunately, it's not very different from the original story, because this chapter is necessary. Anyway, hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 11**

When I woke the next morning, I dressed quickly, anxious to visit Harry. Hermione must have felt the same way because she was quick to join me as I started down the stairs. I was surprised to see Ron awake, but glad because it meant we could leave quicker. We headed off towards the Hospital Wing, but before we could, we came across Professor's McGonagall and Flitwick. Upon seeing us, they seemed to stop talking immediately and watched us as we passed them. They didn't start speaking again until we had turned the corner. My interest was piqued. I latched on to the arms of Ron and Hermione's robes and pulled them back, holding my finger to my lips to get them to be quiet. I gestured for them to listen to what the two professors had to say.

"I found him on the stairs," McGonagall was saying. "Oh, it was horrible, Filius. He was frozen solid, not an inch of him was moving. He'd been petrified."

I struggled to hold back a gasp, exchanging a look with Ron and Hermione before listening in again.

"What do you think it means?" Flitwick asked, his normally high-pitched, squeaky voice unnaturally grave.

"Albus thinks it means the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again," McGonagall said sadly.

We'd heard enough. The three of us pulled away from the wall and hurried off towards the Hospital Wing, only to find Harry walking out of it already.

"Harry," I cried, running up to him. "How's your arm?" I hugged him gently.

"Fine," he said. "It's all healed up. But listen, I have to tell you three something," he said, pulling us along into an empty classroom. "Last night, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall came in with Colin – he'd been petrified!"

The three of us gasp.

"We heard," I say. "But we didn't know it was Colin."

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match; he took it out on Colin."

"There's something else," Harry interrupted. "Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night."

The three of us looked at him in confusion. He quickly relayed the details of Dobby's visit to us.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" Hermione asked when he finished.

"This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here, and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," suggested Hermione. "Or maybe it can disguise itself – pretend to be a suit of armour or something – I've read about Chameleon Ghouls–"

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, looking at Harry.

"So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm." He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't stop trying to save your life, he's going to kill you."

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumour and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny, who sat next to Colin in Charms, was distraught, and Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure-blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall came around, as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I signed her list; we had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck us as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to try to worm a confession out of him. I'd been doing my best to be friendly towards him, but there'd been a set back when the four of us had accidentally let it slip we were friends still. Luckily, Daphne hadn't minded so I'd still been able to stay with her in the Slytherin Common Room.

A week later, we were walking across the entrance hall when we saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus and Dean beckoned us over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…"

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.

"Could be useful," he said to the three of us as we went into dinner. "Shall we go?"

We were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening we hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young – maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered.

Snape's upper lip was curling. I wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at me like that, I'd have been running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.

"One – two – three–"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off, and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown – yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy – however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me–"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter–"

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione and me.

"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Mr Potter. And you, Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode. Miss Potter, partner with Miss Parkinson."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, two Slytherin girls who disliked us profoundly. Hermione gave Bulstrode a weak smile that she did not return. I didn't even bother with Parkinson; she was outright rude and made it known how much she disliked me.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"

I inclined my head, and Parkinson barely moved hers.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don't want any accidents – one … two … three–"

I raised my wand, but Parkinson had started early and shouted the disarming spell before I could defend myself. Unfortunately, it worked, and my wand flew out of my hand. Luckily it didn't go far, and I caught it once it started to fall. Parkinson glared at me, but before she could do anything, I raised my wand and performed the spell flawlessly. Her wand flew out of her hand and a quarter of the way across the room. She glared at me before walking away to collect it.

I looked around only to find chaos.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd.

Looking over at Harry, I saw Malfoy on his knees, doubled over with laughter. Harry hung back, but that was a mistake. Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!" and the next second, Harry's legs began to jerk around in a kind of quickstep.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge. "Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.

Meanwhile, a haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologising for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry and I leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than we were.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan…"

"Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard; it'll stop bleeding in a second."

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you–"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Mr Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room. I watched with a beating heart, knowing whatever came next would not be good.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops – my wand is a little overexcited–"

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"

I was standing close enough to the two that I heard Malfoy's words.

"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.

"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three – two – one – go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded. Everyone watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between the two boys, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. I didn't move from my spot, though.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it…"

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake, and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Suddenly, Harry was moving forward and shouted at the snake.

"Leave him alone!" And miraculously – inexplicably – the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry.

Fear crept into me as I watched the snake eye my brother.

"Harry, be careful," I said quietly.

"It won't attack," Harry said, and he sounded so sure of himself I almost believed him.

I felt Ron and Hermione coming up to stand beside me when suddenly Justin shouted, "What do you think you're playing at?" He then turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and I didn't like it. I suddenly became aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then Ron tugged on the back of his robes, and Hermione gestured for me to follow.

"Come on," said Ron. "Move – come on–"

Ron steered Harry out of the hall, Hermione and I hurrying alongside them. As we went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. I didn't have a clue what was going on, and Harry didn't seem like he knew either, but neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged us all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room.

Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a what?" said Harry, and I looked between to two in confusion.

"A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once," I laughed at the memory. "– long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to that was before I knew I was a wizard–"

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.

"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh, no, they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."

"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin–"

"Oh, that's what you said to it?"

"What d'you mean?" I suddenly asked. "You were there – you heard him– He just said, 'Leave him alone!'"

It was my turn to be stared at now.

"You know what he said?" Hermione asked.

"Of course I did," I say. "What, didn't you?"

"I heard him speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You could have been saying anything – no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something – it was creepy, you know–"

Harry gaped at him.

"I spoke a different language? But – I didn't realise – how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"

"And how did I not realise?" I asked as well.

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry and I just stared at each other, not seeing what was so terrible.

"D'you want to tell us what's wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin's head?" Harry asked. "What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's mouth fell open, and I felt my eyes widen.

"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something–"

"But he's not," I said. "We're not."

"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."

After that, we didn't speak much. I wanted to just go to sleep, but unfortunately, I had a lesson with Dumbledore. So after dinner, I made the excuse of going to the Slytherin Common Room before heading to Dumbledore's office. I was unsurprised to see McGonagall there, but they were both looking at me with unreadable expressions. I had a feeling I knew what it was about.

"Don't tell me you think Harry or I is their Heir of Slytherin?" I groaned, ignoring the fact that they were my Professors and I really shouldn't have spoken to them like that.

"Of course not," McGonagall said immediately.

"But we do have to wonder," Dumbledore said. "Tell us, Isobel. Did you understand what Harry said to the snake?"

I nodded.

"He just told it to leave Justin alone," I say. "But apparently he said it in Parseltongue, which supposedly means Harry and I are Parselmouths."

Dumbledore looked troubled, but he didn't say anything. I sighed.

"I don't understand. Surely Harry and I aren't descendants of Salazar Slytherin. I mean, I don't know anything about our father's family, but surely not. Harry's a Gryffindor. And I'm, well. I just don't understand."

"Being a descendant of a founding member doesn't automatically make you a member of that house," McGonagall explained patiently. "And while normally something like that would be tracked, and well known, it is possible that somewhere along the line a family member went missing, or was blasted off a family tapestry and forgotten about. Now, I'm not saying you are; I'm just saying it's entirely possible."

I sighed, nodding slightly. She wasn't wrong. Slytherin was known for his love of pure-bloods after all. If a family member hadn't felt the same way, it was likely that something like McGonagall said could have happened. That thought didn't make me feel much better.

Thankfully, we didn't dwell on it, and the rest of the lesson was spent with the two professors making me go over various spells and curses I'd learnt with them, and practising a little bit of control with my magic. By the time the lesson ended, I was exhausted and ready for bed. I made my way back to Gryffindor Tower and slipped inside my dormitory, not bothering to get changed as I headed for my bed.

By the next morning, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was cancelled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so crucial for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess as I watched.

"For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as one of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."

He had been wanting to explain what had happened to the Hufflepuff, but obviously with Herbology cancelled, hadn't gotten the chance.

"Come on, I'll help," I say, getting up and reach for him. "Maybe I can get inside the Common Room and get him to come out and talk," I suggested.

So Harry got up, and we left through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in the daytime because of the thick, swirling grey snow at every window. Shivering, Harry and I walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, we walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and decided to check the library first.

We made idle conversation as we walked, not talking about anything of significant importance.

A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, we could see that their heads were close together, and they were having what looked like an engaging conversation. We couldn't see whether Justin was among them. We were walking toward them when some of what they were saying met our ears, and we paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

"Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth. Him and his sister. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. The Potter's had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey was annoying them at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of Harry while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know – Creevey's been attacked."

"They always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. They can't be all bad, can they?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry and I edged nearer so that we could catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that. And what happened to Isobel? She hasn't got a scar or anything of the sort. Why not? He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill them in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers the Potter's have been hiding?"

Harry obviously couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, and ignoring my protests, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though the sight of him had Petrified them, and the colour was draining out of Ernie's face.

"Hello," said Harry. "We're looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering voice.

"I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Duelling Club," said Harry.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."

"Then you noticed that after he spoke to it, the snake backed off?" I interrupted.

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was Harry speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin."

"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even touch him!" I say at the same time.

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so–"

"- I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," I said. "I'd like to see you try it."

Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook. I murmured an apology and hurried after him.

Harry blundered up the corridor, and I struggled to keep up. The result of him wandering blindly was that he walked into Hagrid, who knocked him backwards onto the floor.

"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.

I rushed over to help him up, looking at Hagrid as well. A woolly, snow-covered balaclava entirely hid his face, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

"All righ', you two?" Hagrid asked, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"

"Cancelled," said Harry. "What're you doing in here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."

He peered more closely at Harry and me from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're all righ' Harry? Yeh look all hot an' bothered–"

Neither Harry nor I felt like repeating what we'd heard the Hufflepuffs saying.

"It's nothing," Harry said. "We'd better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next, and we've got to pick up our books."

We walked off, talking about what Ernie had said about us.

"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born," Harry imitated angrily.

"Calm down, Harry," I say, even though I was pretty angry as well. "They're just scared."

We walked up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane.

"So what?" Harry said. "That doesn't mean –" We were halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

I felt my stomach drop when I saw what he'd fallen over.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off, and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.

I slowly helped Harry to his feet, trying to pull him away as all that was heard was our fast and shallow breathing. My heart was doing some sort of gymnastics routine against my ribs. I looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor until Harry nudged me and pointed to a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

"What do we do?" I whispered.

We could run, and no one would ever know we had been there. But we couldn't just leave them lying here.

"We have to get help," I answered my own question.

"Will anyone believe we don't have anything to do with this?" Harry asked anxiously.

As we stood there, panicking, a door right next to us opened with a bang, and I involuntarily jumped. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's the potty wee Potters!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What're Potters up to? Why're Potters lurking–"

Peeves stopped, halfway through a mid-air somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry or I could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Crash – crash – crash – door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry and I found ourselves pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Harry put an arm around me protectively as Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie arrived, panting, on the scene.

"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry and me.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

"Oh, Potters, you rotters, oh, what have you done, You're killing off' students, you think it's good fun–"

"That's enough, Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry and I.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and I and Professor McGonagall alone together.

"This way, Potters," she said.

"Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear we didn't–"

"This is out of my hands, Potters," said Professor McGonagall curtly.

Harry and I glanced at each in worry, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I reached blindly for Harry's hand, and he took it in his own, squeezing in gently in reassurance. We marched in silence, and I suddenly realised where we were going. We rounded a corner, and McGonagall stopped before the large and hideous stone gargoyle that leads to Dumbledore's office.

"Lemon drop!" she said the password.

The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Having seen this happen many times before, I couldn't ignore the dread I felt as Harry evidently was; having never seen Dumbledore's office before. McGonagall stepped onto the spiral staircase, beckoning us on. We rose upward in circles, higher and higher until I saw the door that leads to the Headmaster's office. I heard Harry gasp quietly, and I looked over at him. His eyes were wide with worry as he suddenly realised where we were. I took a deep breath as McGonagall knocked on the door, and it opened silently.

Here went nothing.

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**Hope you enjoyed and I hope to update soon! :)**


	30. Malfoy

**OMG yes I realise it's been forever and I am so sorry but for now I hope you enjoy the next chapter:)**

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**Disclaimer/ I don't own anything**

**Chapter 12**

Professor McGonagall told us to wait and then left, leaving us waiting for Dumbledore. I noticed Harry looking around the room in interest as he had never seen the office before. I realised I should seem curious as well, so I started looking around. Just then I noticed Harry moving towards the desk.

"Harry," I hiss. "What are you doing?"

He glanced back at me, then returned his gaze to its previous direction. I followed his eyes and realised he was looking at the Sorting Hat on the shelf behind Dumbledore's desk. Instead of answering me, however, he continues his journey to the Hat - ignoring my protests.

Harry takes the Hat down from the shelf and I let out a sigh of frustration. I glance around, making sure none of the portraits, or God forbid, Dumbledore, was watching. Harry lowered the Hat onto his head, and despite myself, I watched in curiosity.

It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, but he made no move to adjust it. Suddenly, the Hat came to life and I heard a small voice, too quiet to make out. Harry must have heard it though, as he answered quietly.

"Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er - sorry to bother you - I wanted to ask-"

He cut off and I heard the indistinguishable voice again. It spoke for a bit before Harry suddenly jolted then grabbed the Hat and yanked it off. It fell limp in Harry's hand before he put it back on the shelf.

"You're wrong," he told the Hat.

It didn't move. Harry backed away, watching it. I crinkled my eyebrows in confusion. What had the Hat said? Before I can ask, a gagging noise from behind us made us wheel around.

On the golden perch behind the door was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix. It looked like he was nearing his Burning Day. He spared a glance at me before staring at Harry, who looked a little revolted, but curious. Fawkes gagged again, and a couple of feathers fell out of his tail. Harry took a step back when suddenly, the phoenix burst into flames. I jumped slightly, taken by surprise. Harry on the other hand, let out a yell and backed away.

He glanced back at me with wide eyes while Fawkes became a fireball, gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.

Just then the office door opened and Dumbledore came in, a sombre look on his face.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do anything - he just caught fire-"

I resisted the urge to smack my hand over my forehead. Harry didn't know that it was normal for Phoenix's to do that, I told myself.

Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face I could see now that I'd moved to stand beside him.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry," I explain, accidentally cutting of Dumbledore.

I glance at him with an apologetic look but he just smiles.

"Correct, Isobel," he says, then turns his attention back to Harry. "Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him..."

We looked down in time to see a newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

Harry glances at me with raised eyebrows, as if asking whether he was right or not. I resisted the urge to smirk at the thought that Harry trusted my information than Dumbledore's.

Suddenly I remembered what Harry and I were here for and I abruptly looked away from Harry to Dumbledore. The Headmaster looked between the two of us with a penetrating, light-blue stare. Beside me, I felt Harry shift slightly.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' 'em, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was talkin' ter 'em seconds before that kid was found, they never had time, sir-"

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

"It can't've bin 'em, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to."

"Hagrid, I-"

"- yeh've got the wrong kids, sir, I know Harry and Isobel never-"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry or Isobel attacked those people."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was us, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was sombre again. "But I still want to talk to you."

Dumbledore considered the both of us, and I wondered what he was thinking.

"Tell me, did either of you hear anything before the attack?" Dumbledore asked, steadily looking between us. "A voice, as you heard around Mrs Norris' attack?"

I glance at Harry, who gives me a questioning look. I shake my head, and he speaks up.

"No sir," he says. "Neither of us did."

Dumbledore glances at me and I nod in confirmation. Upon hearing Harry's answer, Dumbledore's eyebrows pull together and he frowns. A moment later the expression is gone and he smiles gently.

"Very well. You may go," he gestures towards the door and Harry and I exchange a relieved look before leaving.

Once we're out we go to find Ron and Hermione.

"I can't believe he let you go, just like that," Hermione says once we tell them.

Harry and I shrug, and I give him a sidelong glance.

"Well he was right to," I say. "It wasn't us."

Hermione and Ron look alarmed.

"We know," Ron says hastily. "Of course, we know. It's just…Well, you did look guilty. I wonder why Dumbledore believed you without you even saying anything."

I frown and shrug. I was glad he had though. I didn't need anyone else thinking Harry and I had something to do with this.

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? What terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry and Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But I was glad that most people were leaving. I was tired of people skirting around Harry and me in the corridors, as though we were about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as we passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry and I down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heirs of Slytherin, seriously evil witch and wizard coming through..."

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behaviour.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry and Isobel are in a hurry."

"Yeah, they're off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with their fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward me off with a large clove of garlic when we met.

I didn't mind too much. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're getting all the credit for his dirty work."

"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "Isobel was just saying last night how much progress she's made. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."

I shifted uncomfortably under the looks they gave me. The truth was I was still working my way up. Daphne was still friendly and accommodating, but she was leaving over the holidays. I was friendly with Tracey Davis, and Opal Runcorn wasn't too bad. Zabini and Nott mostly ignored me, which I took as a good sign. As long as they weren't giving me trouble, I didn't care. Unfortunately, Malfoy still sneered at me every time he saw me, along with Pansy, Millicent and Crabbe and Goyle. They were the ones I really needed to get in with, but it was proving to be difficult.

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. It was peaceful and I enjoyed the fact that me, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley's had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant we could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr and Mrs Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed our childish behaviour, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had already told us pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. I woke up before Hermione, and grinned as I got ready for the day. I noticed a stack of presents by our beds and decided to shake Hermione awake.

"Merry Christmas," I tell her with a grin.

She smiles before getting ready too. Once she's finished, we grab our presents and head for Harry and Ron's dormitory. We burst in and Hermione went over to pull back the curtains of the window.

"Wake up," she said loudly.

"Hermione, Isobel - you're not supposed to be in here -" said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him a present.

I flopped down onto Harry's bed and gave him a quick hug and wished him Merry Christmas.

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak.

"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on the bed. "Are you speaking to me again?"

She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, and I reached over to pat her gently. The present turned out to be from the Dursley's. They had sent Harry and I a toothpick and a note telling us to find out whether we'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation, too.

The rest our Christmas presents were far more satisfactory. Hagrid had sent all of us large tins of treacle fudge, which we decided to soften by the fire before eating. Ron had given Harry a book called Flying with the Cannons, and got me some new gloves which had been worn out from all our practice. Hermione had bought us each a luxurious eagle-feather quill. Harry and I opened our last presents together to find new, hand-knitted sweaters from Mrs Weasley and a large plum cake to share between ourselves (and Ron and Hermione). We read her card and I saw Harry's face fall. He was obviously feeling guilty about Mr Weasley's car (which hadn't been seen since its crash with the Whomping Willow).

No one could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led us in a few of his favourite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept asking us all what we were sniggering at. I didn't even care that Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks about our new sweaters from the Slytherin table. I knew I had to be on my best behaviour to even have a chance of figuring anything out.

I'd barely finished my third helping of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered all of us out of the hall.

"We need to make sure Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on you while you're interrogating him," she told me.

"I'm doing that tonight?" I ask in alarm.

I thought I'd have at least one more day.

"It's Christmas," she said like it explained everything. "What better time to ask him? He'll be in the best mood possible."

"Something tells me he won't care about holidays when I start asking about the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets," I sigh.

"Why do Crabbe and Goyle need to be gone?" Ron asks.

"Hopefully it'll make Malfoy more honest. He won't have his goons to protect him," Hermione says. "Now, I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, pulling out two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All we have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, you'll be free for at least two hours, Isobel."

I looked at the cakes with doubt. Harry and Ron looked to be in a similar state of mind.

"Hermione, I don't think-"

"That could go seriously wrong-"

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.

"You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, all right, all right," I sigh.

To my amazement, it went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. We lurked in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shovelling down fourth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters. When we spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, we hid quickly behind a suit of armour next to the front door.

"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them.

Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over backward onto the floor.

"Good," Hermione grinned, coming out from her hiding spot. "Now, Isobel, you go. We can handle them," she gestured at her and the boys.

I spared them one last glance, seeing Harry give me a reassuring smile, before turning away with a heavy sigh. Just as I turned the corner to the Slytherin Dungeon entrance, I heard a voice suddenly echo down the corridor.

"What are you doing here?"

I turned around, only just managing to hold back a groan when I spot the blonde boy.

"Entering the Common Room," I say, forcing back my clipped tone.

"Why?" he asks, sounding genuinely confused.

I'm taken aback for a moment at the emotion in his voice. I'd never heard anything but loathing or teasing before. It was weird.

"Because I want to," it comes out as more of a question and I wince at my tone.

Malfoy looks me up and down, an unreadable expression on his face. I try not to shift under his scrutinising gaze.

"Why?" he asks again. "You've got no friends here. All of them left for the holidays."

Again, I'm taken aback by the lack of hostility. I manage to shrug it off however and answer with a scoff.

"That's harsh. I've got friends here," I say, sounding more confident than I felt.

"Who?" he raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow in a, dare I say it, almost friendly, teasing way.

I'm too stunned to answer. It was like Malfoy had been replaced by a friendly Hufflepuff. Okay, that was a bit of a stretch, but still. Instead of answering him, I just stare at him in shock, probably looking like a fish out of water as I opened and closed my mouth. Malfoy's expression doesn't change, save for the minutest tug at his lips. That confused me even more. Was Draco Malfoy trying not to smile at me? What the actual hell?

"Okay, what is going on?" I demand suddenly.

Malfoy looks taken aback. Serves him right.

"Why are you suddenly being nice?" I continue.

Instantly, Malfoy's expression falls into a sneer. That's more like it.

"I'm not being nice," he counters, but is voice wavers just enough for me to detect the lie.

I mirror his previous expression; raising one eyebrow at him.

"Yes, you were. By Malfoy standards, anyway," I cross my arms over my body, suddenly adopting a confident, almost relaxed stance.

Malfoy chuckles.

"Malfoy standards? That's not even a thing."

I just stare at him. After a moment or two he sighs and looks away. I expect him to say something, but instead, he starts off down the corridor. A moment later I follow him, still looking at him with confusion.

"Pure-blood!" Malfoy says, and the stone door concealed in the wall slides open.

We don't say anything as we walk inside, and I notice a few older students sitting in the dark corners of the room. Malfoy walks over to his usual armchair near the fire and I'm about to head for mine, away from him, when he gestures for to me to follow him. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion but do anyway, taking the spot next to him.

"Wait here," he says. "I'm going to get something my father just sent me."

Without waiting for an answer, he heads off to his dormitory. I do my best to get comfortable, but it's weird sitting in a different spot to usual. Malfoy comes back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He handed it to me and I took it with a questioning look.

I felt my eyes widen as I read the article. It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:

INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.

Mr Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr Weasley's resignation. "Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.

I read it several times over before handing the clipping back to Malfoy.

"Why did you show me that?" I ask, frowning as I take in the information.

Fifty galleons. I knew the Weasley's would struggle to pay that. I felt sorry for them, and made a mental note to report back to Ron when I left.

Malfoy shrugs and sits down, leaving a wide space between us on the couch.

"Figured it would be better if you already knew when I taunt Weasley about it tomorrow," he smirks.

I feel anger pooling in my stomach.

"Why are you so rude to them?" I demand. "What have they done to you?"

"Nothing," he replies smoothly. "But Arthur Weasley and Father have had a feud since before I was born. Your brother defeated the greatest Dark Lord there's ever been when he was just a baby, and Granger is a Mudblood. They don't need to have done anything."

"What about me, than?" I ask. "Why do you treat me rudely?"

"I'm not right now, am I?" he retorts, glancing sideways at me. "Besides, you're Potter's brother. Isn't that reason enough?"

"So, what? You're only mean to me when I'm around my friends? My family?"

"Until you give me a reason to be mean, yes."

He answers so smoothly I almost want to punch him. Except, he was actually being nice. To an extent. I didn't need to go screwing that up now.

There was a beat of silence before Malfoy breaks it.

"You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he says thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "`Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?"

He dropped his hands and looked at me. I scowled at him.

"Just because I apparently haven't done anything wrong and you're being decent to me for some reason doesn't mean you can go insult the people I care about," I say hotly. "Dumbledore is the best thing that's happened to Hogwarts. And Colin isn't that bad anymore."

"Well, that's because he's not around anymore," he cocks an eyebrow at me.

I bite my tongue. He was right, but I wasn't about to let him know it.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," Malfoy continues on slowly, obviously uncaring that Harry's my brother. "He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir!"

I waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from saying something useful - but then, "I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."

Completely forgetting he'd just insulted Harry, Hermione and me in one sentence, I said quickly.

"You must have some idea who's behind it all..."

Malfoy suddenly fixes me with a glare.

"What? I suppose you think it's me? Privileged pureblood sticking my nose up at Mudbloods? If only," he scoffs. "Unfortunately, I haven't got any idea who it is. Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So, I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time... I hope it's Granger," he said with relish.

I clenched my jaw.

"Don't talk about her like that," I say. "It's not her fault who her parents are. She's a better witch than anyone else in our year. Who cares what sort of blood she has?" I blow up at him, getting up to stand in front of him and point my finger accusingly.

Malfoy just smirks. He stands up, face only inches away from my finger.

"That's what makes it all worse, you see," he says, a dark grin on his face. "Granger should be a nobody, yet she somehow manages to beat me. I've been practising magic and studying since I could read. It's not fair that someone with such tainted blood is better."

I make an incredulous sound in my throat.

"Don't tell me you're jealous?" I ask, disbelievingly. "You mean to say the only reason you hate her is because she gets better marks than you? You're so petty!"

By now I had completely forgotten what I was meant to be here for. It was the furthest thing from my mind as I stared into Malfoy's grey eyes, which were sparkling with anger and amusement.

"Aren't we getting side-tracked here, Potter?" he suddenly says. "I thought you were supposed to be here to find out about the Chamber of Secrets."

I blink. He was right. I'd gone completely off track. Without realising, I lower my finger and move away from him.

"How did-" I start.

"How did I know that's what you wanted?" Malfoy cuts me off with a chuckle. "Come on, Potter. You couldn't have been more obvious if you tried. Why else would you come in here, attempting to make friends? It's not like you'd willingly associate with any of us Slytherins."

"That's not true!" I say. "I'm genuinely friends with Daphne. And Tracey and Opal aren't that bad."

"But you don't deny it."

Dammit, he got me there.

"You're too predictable, Potter," Malfoy laughs. "You know, maybe I would've believed it if you'd also been visiting the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Common Rooms. I might have thought you were only trying to make friends if I saw you sitting with even one of the students from the other houses. But no. Only Gryffindor and Slytherin. Rookie mistake, if you ask me."

I roll my eyes, not even attempting to come up with something to say back. He was right. So, instead, I try a different tactic.

"So, is there any chance I'll be successful?" I ask. "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"

"Oh, yeah... whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" I repeat, puzzled.

"Azkaban - the wizard prison," said Malfoy, looking at me in disbelief. "Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward."

I glare at him.

"Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"

I widen my eyes in shock, deciding to play along with whatever he was doing. I didn't know why he was telling me any of this, but I wasn't about to interrupt him.

"Yeah..." said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor-"

Suddenly, he cuts off, as if realising he shouldn't be telling me this. Instead of looking angry or worried however, he just looks slightly put off.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

He shrugs.

"What are you going to do with the information? Even if you tried to do something against Father it'd be your word against his."

"And when I tell Ron to write to his father and tell him about the secret chamber?" I counter.

"Then Father will be left wondering how someone found out about it, won't he?" Malfoy says smugly.

Not for the first time, I stare at him in shock.

"You're not even going to try and stop me?" I question. "Or warn your father?"

Malfoy doesn't answer, but I see something flash in his eyes, almost like…rebellion. I wondered what it meant. Surely Malfoy didn't want his own father to get in trouble. But from the way he was acting, it seemed like that's exactly what he wanted. I didn't understand. This side of Malfoy was completely different to any side I'd seen of him before. I couldn't recall if we'd even had a civil conversation before now. I doubted it. I couldn't resist.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" I ask, looking directly at Malfoy.

He returns my look but doesn't say anything for a moment. His eyes dart around, as if looking for something. Then, he sighs.

"I'm not my father," he says quietly. "I might not exactly like you, but I certainly don't hate you."

I'm taken aback by his honesty. I hadn't thought he could surprise me anymore than he already had, but, of course, he managed. Instead of answering, I just look away and lean back into the couch, processing all the information I'd gotten.

The Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, and a muggle-born was killed. Supposedly, the person who did it was locked up, in the wizard prison. Something about the story didn't seem to add up. If the person was in Azkaban, how was the Chamber open now? Did they have a child, or even a grandchild, who had taken over the role of Heir of Slytherin?

I voice my questions to Malfoy. He just shrugs.

"Probably. Why do you care, anyway?"

"Because I want to figure out what's going on, and who's behind these attacks! We were convinced that it was you, but obviously that's been dismissed…" I trailed off, eyeing him in suspicion.

Technically, he wasn't completely off the hook. He could be lying, or telling me this to get me off his trail. As convincing as he was that he was innocent, I knew there was still a chance.

Malfoy rolls his eyes.

"Believe what you want, Potter. But I'm telling you, it isn't me."

After that, I can't think of anything to say. So, I stand up, and head for the door of the Common Room. I'm surprised when Malfoy calls out.

"Don't even think about telling your friends about my 'change of heart'," he says threateningly.

I turn around with a small smirk.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**Guys, I am so so so so so so sorry. My computer decided to be a pain and I was without it for a few days, then I needed to get a new one but in the process I lost all my files so I had to scrounge around for a few days to find them and basically excuses excuses but I am so sorry. I'm really trying to get these out quickly but life seems to be stopping me in every way possible :( Anyway, I am so sorry, I hope you enjoyed, and I will definitely try to update sooner next time.**

**Also, I know, the Malfoy thing is different right? But, I'm a sucker for Draco, sooo, I couldn't resist:) He's not going to be a major character or anything, but I don't want him to be a bad guy, so...yah. That's that. **


	31. HIATUS

**Hey guys! Sorry, this isn't an actual update, and if you read the chapter title you'll know. I'm really sorry to say that I'm putting both this story and any other stories I'm currently working on, on an indefinite HIATUS. To everyone who's reading and enjoying I'm really sorry but I'm currently not feeling like I'm giving my all anymore. **

**Writing is becoming more of a requirement rather than an enjoyment, and I'm currently really busy and behind, so I just want to drop one of the stresses in my life. **

**I promise that I will keep writing and I'm hoping that eventually, once everything is sorted and I'm in the proper mindset against, I'll come back and finish the story off. **

**Until then, I'm really sorry, but I hope you understand :) **


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